


Blackberry Jam

by JulietsEmoPhase



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Consensual Underage Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Growing Up Together, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Smut, Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-14 01:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7145645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulietsEmoPhase/pseuds/JulietsEmoPhase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>***WINNER of 'Best Drarry' in the Wattpad Harry Potter Fan Fiction Awards 2016 AND 2017!!!***</p><p>10-year-old Harry and Draco are evacuated from London during the Blitz, and through a logistical error, end up sharing not only a home but a bed. Follow them as they grow up against the backdrop of the war, discovering who they really are and slowly falling in love. </p><p>WWII Muggle AU. Mild smut, warnings for some thoughts of self harm/suicide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohmyfancan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfancan/gifts).



> This is a birthday present for the absolutely WONDERFUL Maia (@oh-my-drarry/@oh-my-fancan). I was toying with the old favourite troupe of ‘Oh no! We have to share a bed!’ – and I came to the idea of WWII evacuees. It quickly got out of hand though lol, because I’ve completely fallen in love with this AU, so I’m breaking my own rule and posting this as a work in progress (as I obviously couldn’t wait to post the whole thing as then it would have been late for Maia’s birthday!) 
> 
> I promise to update as soon as possible though! There will be eight chapters in total, including an epilogue :) So I hope you enjoy! And once again, happy birthday Maia xxx

 

**September 1 st 1940**

 

   Harry stepped off the train onto an unfamiliar platform thronging with people.  He fiddled nervously with the cardboard tag attached to his coat button, his only possessions stowed in the small suitcase that he clung to his side as he attempted to prevent it being buffeted by the other children anxiously climbing down from the engine.

   “This way, this way!” the billeting officer called, herding the children towards the exit.  The train had been packed though, and there were only a few adults that had travelled with them from London, so it was a challenge to move everyone in an orderly fashion.  Seeing as he was one of the older evacuees, Harry tried to help as best he could.  He had argued sternly with his mother that he shouldn’t have to leave at all, that evacuation was for babies and as had turned ten in July that meant he was no longer a baby.  But there had been no swaying her, so in order to feel a little less ashamed for running away from London, Harry took the hand of a little girl hair who was crying, the gas mask swinging around her neck almost as large as her head.

   “There now,” he said in his jolliest voice, pushing up his glasses as they threatened to slip down his nose.  “There’s no need for tears, we’re going on a grand adventure.”

   He smiled and the little girl sniffled and wiped her eyes.  “I don’t want a grand adventure though,” she whispered.  “I want my mummy.”

   Harry tried to swallow around the thick lump that sprung into his throat at her words, but remained committed to his smile.  “I’m sure you shall see your mother very soon.  Until then you have to be brave, and make her very proud.”

   The little girl nodded solemnly as they slowly filed past a sign on the brick wall that announced this was ‘Little Whinging Station’.  Harry knew they were somewhere in Surrey, but he only knew that was to the west of London, and not much else.  He had been so adamant he wouldn’t be leaving, that when the bombs had started dropping he hadn’t had a chance to check out a map from the library before he’d had to say goodbye.

   He bit his lip and stuck out his chin, absolutely refusing to think of his mother waving him off at the station, tears running down her face as she made him promise to write the moment he got to his new home.  Harry was a big boy, and he had to look after the littler children who were far more scared than he was. 

   He refused, too, to think of the way the ground had rumbled, and how the sky had lit up like a furnace where the bombings had taken place across the city.  His mother had assured him that their street was perfectly safe, because with fierce Miss McGonagall on the neighbourhood watch nobody would dare let their blackout curtains slip, but when Harry had protested that meant _he_ should be allowed to stay too if it was so safe, his mother had said ‘you never could be too careful’. 

   Harry felt like a coward, leaving his mother behind when his father had already gone to fight in France.  He flew Spitfires and when Harry was old enough, he was going to join the air force too and do just the same.  But until then, that meant Mother was all alone and Harry hated it frightfully. 

   He tightened his grip on the little girl’s hand, and she smiled back up at him, but the hundred or more children were now arriving onto the road outside the station, and were being directed in different directions based on what schools they came from. 

   “Hogwarts!” one of the billeting officers called, waving and pointing over to the right.  “Anyone from Hogwarts to this bus please!”

   Harry looked down at the girl.  “Are you from Hogwarts?” he asked, but she shook her head.  So Harry refused to leave her until he had paired her up with someone else from her own school, and as a result almost missed getting on the bus. 

   “Hurry up boy!” a man with greasy black hair snapped as he clambered up the steps, but the driver, a large man with a bushy beard tutted loudly. 

   “Oh leave him be,” he said with the same kind of thick country accent Harry had heard once or twice down the market from the farmers.  “He’s had a long enough day without you scaring the poor chap!”  Harry smiled gratefully at the driver, and dropped into the first spare seat he could find, kicking his suitcase under his legs and hugging his gas mask to his chest. 

   He may not like it, but there was no going back now.  (He’d checked, there was no way to get back into London without a train ticket, and he didn’t have that sort of money, only a shilling in his left shoe for safe keeping.)  So he was going to have to stir his courage and face wherever he was going now with a brave face. 

   He had talked with many of the other children on the journey from Victoria, but now he and his companions were quieter, watching eagerly out of the windows as the town of Little Whinging flew by.  There were no tall buildings here like in London, and the houses were bigger, all with gardens outside that Harry liked the look of very much with their colourful flowers.  It was late in the afternoon and the weather was balmy, so there were many people walking by as the bus passed, and quite often they would wave cheerfully to the children.  Harry found his heart warmed a little by their welcoming faces, and hoped he would be going to live with a nice family. 

   After ten minutes (judged by his father’s watch he wore proudly on his wrist) Harry looked on as they pulled into the courtyard of the town’s school.  One of the reasons his mother had been so keen for him to come to Little Whinging was that they had a Secondary Modern, so he could continue with his education.  This, in the end, had been what had won him over, because pilots needed to be good at maths.  He looked up at the grand red-brick building and took a deep breath to fortify himself.  This, he swore, was where he was going to work his hardest, and make both Mother and Father proud. 

   There were now only about twenty children that disembarked from the bus, and Harry was able to get a better look at them.  They all attended his school in Victoria, but he only recognised one other boy from his year.  It was hard not to notice him though, with his startlingly white blond hair.  Harry knew his name was Draco Malfoy and that he was very rich, but they had never spoken.  His friend Ron had once told him the only reason Draco wasn’t in boarding school was because his mother had refused to send him away.  The bombs must have changed Mrs Malfoy’s mind too though, otherwise why would he be there with the rest of them?

   Harry wished Ron was here instead, but him, his sister and all his brothers had moved to the country last year when the war had broken out.  Harry had promised to write to him as soon as he had his new address as well, so they could continue swapping letters, but it wouldn’t be the same as having a real friend here with him.

   He edged closer to Draco as they all walked into the school hall and clumped together in a group.  There were a couple of dozen adults there, mostly women; the majority of them looked to be organising the children, but some were just watching eagerly as they all were sorted roughly into a line by age.  He and Draco were two of the oldest ones from their school, so they stood out at the end of the line, Draco’s blond hair a sharp contrast against Harry’s pitch black.  “Hi,” he said shyly. 

   Draco turned and looked at him in surprise.  His face was pinched and his jaw tight, and thanks to a height difference of a couple of inches he was able to look down on Harry with bright, silvery eyes.  “Hello?” he said.

   “We go to school together,” Harry said, rallying his courage. 

   But Draco just frowned.  “I know,” he said.  “We all do?”

   “I mean-”

   “Oh excellent,” a billeting officer interrupted.  “If you two are together, I’ve got just the home for you.”  She bustled off, beckoning over her shoulder for the boys to follow. 

   Several other men and women were already pairing children with new families, from what Harry could see, mostly just glancing at the faces and name tags before hastily ushering them towards waiting grown-ups.   

   “I believe she means us?” he said to Draco with a shrug, and started following after her.

   The other boy trotted up beside him, tugging on the strap to his gas mask.  “What did she mean ‘together’?” he demanded.  He didn’t look at Harry though, he stared angrily at the woman’s back as she checked a list and scanned her eyes over the busy crowd.  “Mother insisted I be place in a decent home, where are we going?”

   Harry swallowed, trying his best not to let him rattle him.  “I think we’re going to find out shortly,” he said, as the woman’s face went from tense to happy, spying the person she was looking for.

   “This way boys,” she said, waving her hand eagerly, probably keen to get back and tend to some of the smaller children.  “Mrs Figg?” she called, turning back to the woman who had made her smile.  “It says you can take two, is that correct?”

   An older lady with brown eyes and brown hair shuffled forward and straightened her beige woollen coat.  She had lines around her eyes and mouth, and clutched at a cracked leather handbag resting by her hip.  “Oh,” she said, eyes widening at the sight of the boys.  “Oh no, I said I could take two _siblings.”_  

   The billeting officer gave her chart a quick glance over.  “I’m afraid we only have a few siblings Mrs Figg,” she said cheerily.  “And they’ve either already been allocated or there’s more than two of them.  You chaps are friends though aren’t you, you don’t mind living together do you?”

   Mrs Figg made to speak, and Draco looked mildly horrified, but Harry was determined to make the best of this.  He’d promised to be brave and not cause any fuss.  “It’s absolutely fine,” he said brightly with a quick nod.  “Draco and I were in the same class in London, and we’ll be even better friends now in the country, I’m certain of it.”

   “There’s a good boy,” the billeting officer said fondly, pinching his cheek gently.  “I’m sure I’ll see you both at school soon enough, in the meantime you’re free to pop off!  I bet you’re absolutely famished after such a long journey.”

   And with that she spun away into the crowd, leaving Harry with the rather awkward company of Draco Malfoy and Mrs Figg.  He turned looked between them.  “I’m sorry we’re not siblings,” he said nervously.

   Mrs Figg laughed though and ruffled his hair.  “Don’t you mind now, young man,” she said fondly.  “Harry is it?  And Draco?  Well how about you take those tags off now and we’ll head home.  I’ve got a beef stew in the pot.”

   “That sounds wonderful,” Harry cried genuinely, tugging at the string around his button until it came loose as they began to wander down the corridor and out into the evening air.  “I had sandwiches packed, but we all ate them as soon as we got on the train, and that was _hours_ ago.” 

   Mrs Figg chuckled, but Draco was still quiet, staring at the ground as they walked.  “Why did you want brothers?” he asked. 

   Harry hadn’t really thought about that, so he looked to Mrs Figg for an answer.  She was too busy waving for a bus though that had just trundled up the road, waving her handbag animatedly so it would stop.

   “It’s alright,” she panted as the doors swung open.  “I’ve got your fairs, it’s only a few stops.  You’ll be able to walk it when you come to school, it’s just a bit much on my old knees.”

   The bus driver tipped his hat at the three of them, and they found seats near the back where Harry and Draco would have enough room to stash their cases. 

   “Why did you want brothers?” Draco asked again, this time a little louder and with a glance up at Mrs Figg’s face.  He quickly looked back down at his hands though. 

   The old lady sighed.  “It’s not that much of a bother I suppose, seeing as you two are friends, but there’s only the one bed you see.  I’ve only got a small cottage, but there’s a nice little attic room I thought would be spot on for a pair of siblings who were used to sharing.  I hope that’ll be okay for you boys?”

   Harry felt his ears go pink.  He and Draco were going to have to sleep in the same _bed?_ That’s what mothers and father did, or brothers when there was too many of them to fit in a house.  Ron’s family were always swapping beds and sharing with each other, it was normal for them.  But Harry had always had his own bed, and the thought of now sharing one with Draco was quite terrifying.  How long were they going to have to stay there, surely one of them could move to somewhere where they didn’t have to share!

   He looked up and immediately felt ashamed.  Mrs Figg’s face had fallen and she looked upset.  Harry remembered his vow to solider on, no matter what ( _there was a war on after all,_ he chastised himself) and cleared his throat. 

   “It’ll be jolly good fun!” he said, hoping to get a smile from both her and Draco.  “We’ll just pretend we’re brothers, I’ve always wanted one after all.” 

   He really wanted Draco to agree and say he’d always fancied a brother too, but he just nodded and said “Okay.”

   Mrs Figg seemed reassured by his declaration though.  “Good boy,” she said, pleased with him.  “That’s the spirit.  In war, we all have to do what we must.”

   Harry felt like telling Draco he was sure another family were sure to become available soon, and maybe one of them could move out.  But that seemed rude to Mrs Figg, so he said no such thing.  Instead he listened as she told him about making their stew for most of the day, and about how she grew the carrots and beans herself in her back garden. 

   “You _grow_ them?” Harry asked, stunned.  “In the ground, in the _dirt?”_

   “Where else do you think they could come from?” she chuckled as the bus came to a halt and they all hopped off. 

   Harry scoffed and looked to Draco for encouragement.  He was surprised to see a hint of a smile on the other boy’s face, so he bullied on.  “Why in London Mrs Figg, carrots come in _tins.”_

   That really made her laugh, and they ambled up the garden path to the sound of her mirth.  Her cottage was indeed small, but it was lovely.  Harry liked the many different flowers he could see growing all around the edge of her front garden, and the grass was cut very neatly.  The front door was a deep red that made him think of the telephone boxes back home, and he felt it was a good omen, like they’d brought a little of Victoria with them. 

   “I’ll have to get you both keys cut,” she said as she unlocked the door.  “But for now I’m sure we can share.  Now come in, come in.”

   She ushered the boys over the threshold and into her home.  There was no hallway, they just entered into the living room, but Harry had to say it was very pleasant, and reminded him of his own grandparents’ homes.  Everything was very clean, even though the furniture didn’t match, and he thought there was perhaps a lace, white doily underneath every possible ornament.

   As soon as they were inside, several different cats awoke from all manner of corners, and meowed loudly as they bounded over to greet Mrs Figgs eagerly.  “Alright, alright,” she bemoaned, shooing them away.  “I’ll feed you later, we have guests to entertain first.”

   Harry and Draco had both jumped back at the sight of the creatures, and now they were eyeing up the boys warily.  Harry couldn’t speak for Draco, but he had never had a pet, and he was quite put out at being faced with so many of them.  His godfather had a big black dog, but dogs were always happy to see you.  Cats, in his experience, only ever seemed to want to scratch you.

   “Do they bite?” he yelped, hoping Draco wouldn’t laugh at him, but if anything he seemed to be hiding behind Harry’s back in as just as much fear, if not more.

   “Oh heavens no!” Mrs Figg said, toeing off her shoes and unbuttoning her coat.  “Though watch out for Tufty, he’s a bit jealous that one.”

   A large, fluffy cat with narrow eyes hissed at them, and Harry decided to keep as far away from him as possible. 

   “Come on now, make yourselves comfy.  Shoes live by the door, coats on the rack – oh, let me,” she said as Draco struggled a bit to hang his jacket up, even on tip toes, so Harry had no chance.  “There we go, alright, let’s have a spot of supper, shall we?”

   Harry and Draco obediently left their cases and gas mask boxes near the front door, next to a set of tight stairs that lead upstairs, presumably to their attic room.  Harry eyed up where the steps curved around and out of sight, but they were obviously going to see that later as Mrs Figg cajoled them into the kitchen.  There were two more doors off of the living room that looked to lead to Mrs Figg’s bedroom, and a bathroom.  It may have been small and a little lopsided, but Harry had to admit the place had a nice charm about it.  He took a long breath as he sat down to the table; so, this was to be his home for however long he was here.  All things considered, it wasn’t that bad. 

   Mrs Figg did a lot of the talking during dinner, but Harry was quite good at answering questions, for both him and Draco.  He was able to tell her all about their school and the area they grew up in, about their teachers and the football team he played for.  Draco wasn’t on the team, but Harry didn’t miss the way he sat up with interest as soon as Harry started talking about the games they played against other schools.  He talked about his mother, how she worked in the factory, and his father and his planes, and how one day he wanted to be a pilot too.

   Mrs Figg asked a funny question at that though.  “Does your father also wear glasses?” she asked, as she warmed them some bread pudding.  Harry and his mother had been rationing sensibly for months, so it had been a long time since he had had anything other than condensed milk for afters, and he was extremely excited by the prospect of proper pudding.

   “Um, no,” he said distractedly.  “He doesn’t.”  His glasses were his most important possession.  They had cost a lot of money and he had to be extremely careful with them, otherwise he couldn’t really see.  Mother had warned him several times not to break them when he was away, as there might not be anyone in the town to fix them.  “Mine are great, I can see everything with them!” he prattled on, his stomach, although already full from the stew, rumbled as Mrs Figg poured them _custard_ too.  “Do you always have pudding like this?” he asked excitably.

   Mrs Figg laughed and shook her head.  She liked laughing Harry had noticed, and that made him happy.  He didn’t like people who were too serious and mean.  “This is a special Welcome Home dinner,” she said, giving the boys generous helpings.  “I’m afraid we’ll have to be a bit more sensible on normal days.”

   “That’s okay,” Harry said with a shrug, delving into his pudding.  “Mmmm!” he moaned with his mouth full, the warm fruit bursting in his mouth in tangy, delightful spurts.  Even Draco sighed happily at the hot pudding, and they both finished every last lick of it. 

   Normally, Harry would stay up to at least eight o’clock, especially when it was still almost summer and the sun was still nearly in the sky.  But after their meal he and Draco couldn’t stop yawning, and Mrs Figg insisted they go and brush their teeth for bed whilst she did the washing up.

   So the boys traipsed back out to fetch their cases.  “Um,” Harry said shyly.  “You can go first.”  He pointed to the bathroom and, to make his point, took a step back and sat on one of the armchairs.  He didn’t know why he wanted Draco to like him so much – it wasn’t just because they were going to be living together and sharing a room.  Harry felt drawn to him.  He liked his hair and his eyes, and the way he always seemed to be thinking about something important. 

   Draco bit his lip at Harry’s offer, then nodded.  “Thank you,” he said, then disappeared behind the door.

   Harry though he might fall asleep if he stayed sat on the chair, so he left his suitcase and went to go help Mrs Figg with the drying up.  “You’re an industrious little fellow, aren’t you Harry,” she said fondly. 

   “I help my mother with the chores,” he said, and had to blink a couple of times, missing her terribly.  He tried not to think of her all alone in their house, or the bombs that could fall again tonight. 

   “As well you should,” Mrs Figg said proudly.  “My Bert always did his part,” she added with a nod.

   “Is that Mr Figg?” Harry asked, carefully stacking another plate on the counter. 

   Mrs Figg nodded.  “It was indeed.  He was a lovely man Harry, I think he would have liked you.  But he had a dicky heart after the war – the last war – and he was never quite the same since.  He passed a few years ago, but I’ve always had my lovelies to keep me company.”  Harry looked down as one of the cats wound its way around his leg, as if it knew it was being talked about. 

   “They seem nice,” he said, not really meaning it, but wanting to be polite.  He was still scared of getting scratched. 

   “They are, but they don’t talk,” Mrs Figg said frankly.  “Good listeners, but it’s nice to have another voice in the house.  And now I have two!”  She playfully flicked some suds at Harry, and he giggled happily. 

   He decided he was going to talk for both he and Draco until Draco found his voice again.  He was sure he had a lot to say, he was probably just saving it up for the right time. 

   Speaking of which, the door to the bathroom opened.  “You go on,” Mrs Figg insisted.  “I’ll finish this up, you boys look dead on your feet.”

   Harry thought he should maybe stay and help until the end, but she took the pudding bowl and dish towel off him, and gave him a gentle push away.  “I’ll see you two in the morning.”

   Harry brushed his teeth as fast as possible, then splashed water onto his face.  His eyes felt gritty after so many hours travelling, and it was nice to rub cold water into them.  He carefully took his clothes off and folded them into his case, changing into his pyjamas after.  He wasn’t sure when he was going to be able to get new clothes, and he’d only been able to fit two of everything in his case, so he wanted to be extra careful with everything. 

   He expected Draco to already be upstairs when he re-emerged, but he was sat waiting on the armchair, also in his pyjamas.  He didn’t smile or scowl, but managed something in between, and Harry wasn’t sure what that meant.  Was he angry, or just tired maybe?  “Shall we go up?” he asked.

   Draco sniffed and picked up his case.  “I thought it rude to go up alone,” he said, as if this was obvious.

   “Goodnight boys!” Mrs Figg called from the kitchen.

   “Goodnight Mrs Figg,” they called back in chorus.

   Harry felt nerves in his tummy like butterflies flapping their wings.  What would their room be like?  Would they both fit?

   He went first, climbing the stairs carefully as they were a little on the narrow side, then pausing as he reached the door around the slight turn.  “I suppose this is it?” he said, but Draco just huffed, so he pushed open the door and stepped inside. 

   The ceiling was arched, but there was enough room for him to stand fully upright in most of the room anyway, it was just the sides where it got too low.  There wasn’t anything hanging from the walls, but that was okay, Harry was just mostly relieved by the size of the bed.

   “Oh,” he breathed out.  “It’s a _grown up_ bed,” he said happily.  “We’ll have plenty of room.”  

   Draco pushed the door shut.  It wasn’t a slam, but it wasn’t gentle either.  “Who cares, we still have to share,” he snapped, storming around to the further side and dropping his case to the floor with a thump.  “This is ridiculous, Mother said I was to have my own room with a good family, I shouldn’t be here.”

   “Well, we’re here now,” Harry said, trying to stay cheerful.  “It’s not that bad.  It’s better than London.”

   _“Nowhere_ is better than London,” Draco said hotly, ripping back the covers and dropping onto the mattress.  “Certainly not the ghastly countryside.”

   He yanked the blankets back up and turned his back to Harry, who wasn’t quite sure what to do for a moment.  His throat felt scratchy, and he wanted to tell Draco the only reason he said it was better was because of the war, and the bombs.  But he didn’t.  Instead, he placed his case carefully on the floor and considered fetching out his teddy bear.  But Draco was cross with him, and he didn’t want him  to make fun of his teddy and call him a baby, so he left it where it was. 

   Trying not to dip the mattress too much, he got into the bed as well, took off his glasses and turned off the lamp, leaving them in mostly darkness.  He curled up as far away as he could from Draco, and began drifting off to sleep immediately. 

   He was almost totally gone, his body weary to the bone, when suddenly he felt a shake through the mattress.

   He froze, wondering if he had imagined it, or if his leg had twitched when he’d almost fallen asleep.  But then it came again, along with the strangled sound of a sob.

   Draco was crying, and he was desperately trying not to let Harry know it.

   Harry lay there for a minute or so, completely lost at what to do.  When people cried, they liked to be left alone.  But he couldn’t leave Draco alone though, because they only had one bed.  Draco just sounded so _sad,_ and all Harry could think was how sad he was too.  So in the end he did the only thing he could think of, and rolled over.

   “Don’t cry,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around him the way he did when Mother cried thinking about Father in France.  “Please don’t cry.”

   Draco cried harder though, and rather than pull away, turned suddenly and flung himself into Harry’s arms.  _“I want-”_ he stuttered.  _“-to go – home!”_

   Harry realised he was crying too, all the tears he had so carefully saved up the whole day spilling down his cheeks as he gulped down air. 

   “Me to,” he whispered.  “Me too Draco.”

   They clung to each other until, sometime later, there were no more tears to fall, and exhaustion crept through their bodies.  Harry quite liked being cuddled up with Draco though, and Draco didn’t pull away to move to the other side of the bed, so he must have found it comforting too, which made Harry glad.

   “It’ll be okay,” he mumbled as they drifted off to sleep in the middle of their bed, two lost boys starting a new life together.  “It’ll be okay Draco, I promise.”

   “Okay,” he whispered, tightening his hand around his.  “Okay Harry.”

  


	2. Chapter Two

**June 5 th 1941**

 

   “Over here Harry!” Neville Longbottom, one of the local children, called as Harry thwacked the football with his right foot, sending it flying to his teammate.  He laughed, feeling the sweat running down his neck and soaking into his shirt, crying out as Neville passed to Seamus Finnigan, narrowly getting by Dean Thomas to score against the other team’s waiting goal keeper. 

   “WOOHOO!” Harry cheered, pumping his fist in the air.  It was only an informal match they had thrown together after school had finished for the day, but just because it wasn’t as serious as the matches he used to play with his team back home (the _Central London Lions)_ didn’t mean he wasn’t still keen on winning.  “Good work chaps!”

   He looked around to see if Draco was watching, but he was still stubbornly sitting on the grass at the edge of their makeshift pitch, focused firmly on the book on his lap and the notepad by his knee.  Harry sighed.  He would never have thought there would be a single soul who would volunteer for extra schoolwork, however Draco had refused to let his Latin studies slip simply because there was no teacher to be had in Little Whinging.  So his mother posted him work to do from his old tutor, which Draco would complete and then send back in the already stamped envelope his mother also provided. 

   It was positively barmy, however Harry couldn’t help but also think it was a little wonderful.  Draco was different in so many ways, but Harry liked all the strange things about him, every new detail he learned important to him for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of.

   He was soon distracted by the ball zipping about the grass again, but in the back of his mind he continued to muse on his time with Draco over the past several months. 

   In the beginning it had been odd, getting used to sharing not only a room but a _bed_ with another person.  But funnily enough, knowing Draco would always be to his right, a solid presence beside him, meant Harry slept better than he ever had in the last year or so in London.  If he dreamed of the bombs, all he had to do was shift and feel the other weight on the mattress, and he would know before he was even fully awake that he was no longer in any danger. 

   It was more than that though – Draco was not just proof he was out of London and away from the Blitz, as such reasoning suggested anyone could take his place.  Harry liked his new friend’s quiet contemplation, his interesting ideas and the utterly brilliant games he concocted to play in Mrs Figg’s small garden together, or out in the street with the other children.  He fathomed worlds of dragons and worlds in the stars, and when the other boys would pat him on the back and tell him how bloody marvellous he was, Harry would feel pride like they were being kind directly to him. 

   In the dark, they would whisper little stories from their old lives, sometimes secrets Harry had never told anyone, not even Ron, like the time his horrid cousin had broken his glasses on purpose, so Harry had found some dog’s mess to wrap in a box to leave for him on his door.  Draco had laughed until he’d cried at that one, and even though Harry knew if his mum ever found out he’d be in the worse trouble of his life, but he couldn’t help but feel it was worth it as Draco hugged him and howled with mirth into his neck. 

   Harry liked talking with Draco more than anyone, but today he’d barely strung two words together, not even in his favourite classes where he was normally the first to answer all the teacher’s questions.  Harry looked over again, and began to wonder if there was something actually wrong with his chum.  Draco had begged off with belly-ache earlier, but perhaps that wasn’t it? 

   Just as he decided to go and see if he had changed his mind and wanted to play football (Draco _never_ played.  Harry thought he wanted to, but for some reason always declined) Draco slapped his book shut, picked it and his papers up, and stood to march off.  He would normally never leave without waiting for Harry, or at least telling him, but Harry stopped running after the ball as he watched Draco trudge off, shoulders tense and face down. 

   “I’ll see you later chaps,” he called, ignoring as they protested for him not to go, but he was already scooping up his satchel and gas mask from the side of the pitch, trotting determinedly after Draco.  “Wait!” he shouted.  “Draco, wait!”

   Thankfully, Draco did indeed stop and turn, biting his lip as he allowed Harry to catch up with him. 

   “Where are you off to?” Harry cried breathlessly as he came to a halt.  He wafted his shirt away from his damp body, hoping he wasn’t too grim.  Draco looked neat and tidy as always. 

   Draco shrugged, not really looking up from the ground.  “You were having fun, I didn’t want to disturb you.”

   “Don’t be daft,” Harry said with a laugh.  “Why ever would you disturb me?”  Draco shrugged again, and Harry got a worm of worry in his tummy.  “Draco,” he said gently.  “Have I…I haven’t upset you in some way have I?”

   Draco’s eyes widened.  “Lord, no Harry!” he said, and finally a look of something other than misery graced his features.  Surprise perhaps?  He sighed.  “The truth is I’m having a bad day, but it isn’t anything you or anyone else has done, I promise.”

   “Then what?” Harry asked, relieved that he had not been the cause of Draco’s melancholy, but distressed nonetheless that he was indeed upset. 

   Draco let out a frustrated huff.  “It’s this bloody _war,”_ he bemoaned, using a word they weren’t supposed to say out loud, especially not in front of grown-ups.  “I’m just missing home.  I-”  He fiddled with the books in his hands and shifted his weight.  “It’s my birthday today, and Mother was unable to come and visit like she hoped.”

   Harry’s insides dropped into his boots.  “Oh _Draco,”_ he admonished, clouting his arm for good measure.  “Why on Earth wouldn’t you _tell_ me it’s your birthday, now I feel beastly, I haven’t got you a single thing!”

   He was a little mollified to see a small smile creep onto the other boy’s face.  “I didn’t want you to trouble with presents for anything, there’s not much to go around after all.”

   Harry wasn’t going to be dissuaded though.  “But we’re friends, that’s a special exception, I would have found _something_ to get you-”  he broke off, his face lighting up in a delighted smile.  “Actually,” he announced proudly.  “It turns out I have something simply marvellous for you, and this present happens to be totally free.”  He shot out his hand, wiggling his fingers in invitation for Draco to take it.  “Come on!”

   Draco let out a breath, his body relaxing as he let go of his sadness, and grabbed Harry’s hand firmly.  “Lead the way,” he urged cheerfully.

   They ran and jogged and skipped and spun all the way to the woods on the edge of town.  Harry was chatting the whole time, explaining how he had been exploring when Draco had insisted on doing his extra studies, and how he had made the most extraordinary discovery a few days ago.  “I was waiting for the best time to show you,” he gabbed, grinning ear to ear as he pushed his way through several low hanging branches.  “And what better day than your _birthday?”_  

   Draco was smiling back at him, though stayed quiet as he had most of the short journey.  He looked like he was waiting to see just what Harry had to show him, but luckily he didn’t have to wait much longer.  “Close your eyes!” Harry told him just as they were almost at the right spot.  So Draco stopped walking and did as he was told.  Harry took both his hands, and carefully guided him around the last bend. 

   “If I trip and twist my ankle, it shall be the most rotten of presents Potter,” Draco threatened, but both boys were giggling. 

   “Okay,” Harry announced, turning him and placing him in front of his surprise.  “Open your eyes!”

   Draco did, blinking as his eyes adjusted again to the bright summer sunlight, and then he gasped in delight.  _“Blackberries!”_ he cried, lurching forward to the bush heavy with fruit before them.

  Harry had been vaguely worried that the birds might have gotten to his prize over the past few days, or someone else might have found the burgeoning supply of fruit, but it was just as he remembered it as he and Draco threw themselves to sit on the ground and began picking berries as fast as they could eat them. 

   “Good present?” Harry asked, licking his fingers.

   “Urgh,” Draco moaned, popping several more blackberries into his mouth, his lips purple with juice.  “The best!” he mumbled around chews, then covered his mouth with his hand and giggled at his bad manners. 

   When Harry’s belly began to hurt, he gave a satisfied grunt and flopped onto his back, looking up at the clouds floating by in the sky above the tree tops.  “We should collect as many any we can,” he said, feeling Draco slump down onto his back beside him.  “Bring them to Mrs Figg so she can make jam.”

   “Do you think she could make blackberry _tarts?”_ Draco asked dreamily, and Harry turned to face him.

   “It doesn’t hurt to ask,” he said sincerely.  “It is your birthday after all.”

   Draco turned so they were facing one another, with matching purple smiles.  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he apologised, reaching over to brush a stray bit of berry skin from Harry’s mouth.  “I thought I could pretend it wasn’t really my birthday, and then it might hurt less?”

   Harry understood what he was saying, Draco was good at explaining things like that.  “It’s okay,” he said.  “I’m just sorry you were sad all day.”

   “I’m not sad now, though,” Draco sighed happily, and they lay for a while looking at the clouds again, trying to make out shapes. 

   Harry spied at least half a dozen he swore adamantly were just like Spitfires, whilst Draco saw a variety of creatures and even one he suggested looked like a broomstick.  “The kind you fly on,” he added laughing, as if that were really a possibility. 

   After a while in comfortable silence, a question popped into Harry’s head, and he didn’t pause to consider whether he should speak it aloud before he did.  “Draco,” he began, wiping his mouth to make sure he’d gotten the last of the berry juice off it.  “Do you think, if we weren’t…living together, we would be friends now.”  He almost said ‘sharing a room’, but they never, ever talked about that.  Harry figured that Draco, like him, knew that wasn’t really something that was supposed to be shared with other people, it was their special secret.  Even if he sometimes wanted to assure Draco he actually really liked it, that he found it of great comfort, he never said the words out loud, and neither did Draco.  Harry hoped he felt the same though, just as he hoped the answer to his question would be, ‘Yes, of course!’

   But Draco contemplated his response.  “Honestly,” he said after a few moments.  “I’m not sure if we would.”

   Harry felt like ice flooded his chest.  He couldn’t imagine Draco not being his friend.  He was his special friend, different to his best friend Ron.  Draco was like his brother or something.  They shared everything, and when they were apart Harry felt like he was missing some part of himself.

   “Oh,” he said, then cleared his throat to try and dislodge the lump there. 

   “I mean,” Draco said carefully.  “You played on the football team, and ran around in the muck.  I played piano and never ran anywhere.  I’m not sure we would have talked much, if we hadn’t been placed in the same house.”

   “Yeah,” Harry said, chewing on his lip.  “I guess you’re right.”

   He was surprised by Draco taking his hand, their palms and fingers sticky from all the berries they had devoured as they interlocked, and Harry turned to look at Draco once more.  “I am extremely glad we are friends now though,” he said, his grey eyes wide and shining.  “If anything good has come out of this ghastly war, it is that at least we got the chance to become friends.”

   “Great friends,” Harry agreed enthusiastically, his chest swelling again with happiness.

   “Best friends,” Draco insisted solemnly.  And Harry supposed that was true.  It didn’t mean Ron was any less important to him, but he got to see Draco every day, and where as Ron was fun and loud and great at football, Draco was like Harry’s special secret.  They were two halves, two sides of the same bed.

   “Best friends,” Harry repeated, squeezing their hands together, as if making a promise. 


	3. Chapter Three

 

**December 7 th 1941**

 

   Harry awoke rather suddenly around the time dawn was breaking, as the back of a hand flopped onto his face with a slap.  _“Ow-ah,”_ he grumbled sleepily, but he wasn’t really annoyed.  He rolled onto his side and gave Draco a little tickle in the ribs, which made him jerk awake too with a moan of protest.  “Get off me you big lump,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

   “I can hardly be expected to control myself when I’m asleep Harry,” Draco yawned as he stretched.  “Whereas you made the entirely conscious decision to tickle me, so…”  He lunged for Harry, digging his fingers through the soft material of his pyjamas as he squealed and tried to wriggle away.

   “Mercy! Mercy!” he gasped, trying to get his own hands onto Draco for another attack, but Draco was bigger than him and he was half blind without his glasses on yet.

   Draco relinquished after another few tickles though, then collapsed back into the mattress.  “Please tell me it’s still the weekend?” he begged.

   “It’s the weekend,” Harry affirmed between gasps as he tried to compose himself again after laughing so hard.  “A Sunday if you’re being particular.”

   “When am I not?” he asked as he rolled over and got to his feet, and Harry had to agree.  Draco always liked things just so, and Harry swayed between making them ‘just so’ to please him, and completely derailing affairs to tease him terribly. 

   They bound down the stairs to the bathroom and brushed their teeth side-by-side, jostling for space in front of the mirror with elbows in each other’s sides, seeing who could get the biggest foam frothing at the mouth before they absolutely _had_ to spit.  They could hear that Mrs Figg was already awake and bustling around her in room behind the closed door, so they wasted no time in jogging back upstairs and getting dressed, happy to be wearing some of their own clothes rather than school uniform.

   Harry loved Sundays, especially in winter.  Sundays meant cups of tea by the fire and board games.  Sometimes, if they were really lucky or the rations had just come in, it also meant cake or biscuits, whatever Mrs Figg had felt like making. But mostly he loved the comfy feeling of being in his own clothes, rather than itchy school ones. 

   Draco had quite a lot of clothes to choose from, as his mother sent him packages often.  Harry knew his mother couldn’t spare much from her wages at the factory, but sent what she could with her letters, even if it was only a few pennies.  He only therefore had one or two new items that he had procured since moving to Little Whinging, but he didn’t mind.  Especially seeing as, from time to time, Draco would announce he was bored of a jumper, or that a pair of trousers had become too short, and he would then shyly offer the garment to Harry to see if he might like it.  Harry thought maybe that made him feel better when his mother was always sending him money for new shoes, or a smart shirt for best, like it somehow evened out the scales. 

   But Harry didn’t see it as charity.  Draco’s clothes were _excellent_ , and he liked thinking that he was wearing something that had once belong to his best friend.  It made them special in another way, like brothers who passed clothes between them. 

   In that spirit, his favourite jumper of late was a thickly knitted one of soft wool, green like his eyes with a silver chequered pattern on the cuffs.  Draco had always claimed it was too tickly, but Harry felt it was like walking around with a cuddle, and he often wore it on Sundays.  “Do you think it will rain today?” he asked as he straightened his glasses and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling a face in the mirror as he did.  His hair never behaved the way he wished it would.

   Draco peered out the slanted window in the sloped ceiling, assessing the winter’s day.  “I’d wager it’s frightfully cold,” he said, buttoning up his shirt.  “But the sky is clear.  It’s more likely to snow than rain I’d say.”

   Harry contemplated going for a walk in that case; he could get a good one in before lunch if he left promptly.  Draco would no doubt want to read more of his adventure book, so would want the peace anyway. 

   That was one of the differences between them, Harry had observed.  Draco preferred reading his adventures, whereas Harry preferred finding them himself.  That wasn’t a bad thing though, because it then gave them something new to talk about at the end of the day. 

   “If I go exploring,” he began as they thumped down the stairs once more.  “May I borrow your hat?”  Draco’s navy blue cap was extremely smart, and Harry liked to think himself a professional archaeologist or captain of a sea vessel when he wore it out.  Plus it was nice and warm, so it meant Mrs Figg would let him stay out longer if he was sporting it. 

   “Of course,” Draco said, a twinkle in his eye.  “But you’ll owe me two penny sweets.”

   Harry rolled his eyes.  “Urgh,” he grunted.  “Fine.”

   They entered the kitchen and navigated their way around several different cats, shooing them away as they all mewled for attention.  Even after a year and a half in the house, Harry still didn’t quite trust most of them not to scratch him, and ideally kept them as far away as possible. 

   That was, all except one of the new kittens called Treacle.  Harry and Draco had got to name one of the latest litter each, and Harry had picked the smallest, most delicate looking one and named him after his favourite pudding: treacle tart.  Draco had picked a crafty looking one and called her Shelley after one of his favourite scary book writers; she was a grey tabby with a long body and a demanding meow, whereas Treacle was golden and liked to pounce on things rather ineffectively. 

   Harry picked up his kitten and cradled him to his chest as he put the kettle on to boil.  Draco tutted.  “That’s not very hygienic,” he scolded, but Harry just poked out his tongue and rubbed the little creature’s head. 

   “Like this whole place isn’t covered with cat hair,” he commented cheekily.

   “I heard that,” a voice rumbled from the living room, and Harry’s ears went pink with shame. 

   “Sorry Mrs Figg,” he said hastily as she came and joined them in the kitchen, but thankfully she didn’t look angry, just the usual wince as she used her new cane to walk over and see to the breakfast. 

   The cane had never been mentioned, it had just suddenly appeared one day, like a third leg.  Mrs Figg had been having more and more trouble walking with her dodgy hip, but she never liked to make a fuss.  So when the cane materialised one day, and she was walking most places again, that was just that.  Harry and Draco both knew better than to ever bring it up; they just accepted it now as part of daily life. 

   “I was only joking,” Harry said in an attempt to soothe things over, but she just waved her hand dismissively as Snowy the bright white cat wound her way between her legs. 

   “No you weren’t but it’s fine – you can help be do some cleaning today and get rid of it all.”

   She grinned wickedly as both boys groaned, but Harry remembered not to be ungrateful after a moment’s irritation at his lost adventure time.  They were here as her guests after all, no one had _made_ her take in two teenage evacuees.  She probably would have been much better off with one or two little ones who ate less and kept grousing to a minimum. 

   “Okay,” he said as graciously as he could, but Mrs Figg chuckled at him. 

   “Don’t worry,” she said jovially.  “I was baking scones yesterday, a whole tray full.  Perfect for bribing little boys into doing chores.”

   “I’m not little,” Draco said indignantly, but he was drowned out by Harry’s triumphant cry of “Scones!”

   “That’s right,” Mrs Figg said as the kettle came to a boil and she fished out some milk and cereal.  “I did them in secret whilst you two were running around kicking a ball.” 

   Draco still looked guilty whenever anyone acknowledged he had played any football, but Harry loved that he could now coax him into a game from time to time.  But that wasn’t his concern right at that moment.

   “But do we have any jam left?” he asked in alarm.  There was no point in having scones if there was no jam.  Draco ran to the cupboard and opened it to search.

   “One jar,” he said triumphantly, removing it to show them.

   Mrs Figg tutted.  “As if I’d make scones without there being jam,” she said scornfully.  “Honestly.  Now sit and eat your breakfast, so we can get a crack on with the cleaning.”

   Mrs Figg didn’t believe in boy chores and girl chores.  Harry’s mum was much the same, but Draco was a little shocked at first when he was expected to pick up a duster.  Now though, they were both used to it, and understood the quicker jobs got done, the quicker they could go back to playing.

   Harry was halfway through polishing the living room table an hour or so later, when a thought popped into his head.  So he voiced it, as that’s what he tended to do with sudden thoughts.  “Perhaps we should save the jam,” he said, and Draco and Mrs Figg turned to look at him. 

   “What do you mean?” Mrs Figg asked.

   Harry twitched the cloth damp with polish in his hand.  “For a special occasion?” he explained.  “Seeing as there’s only one jar left, it’ll be sad to see it all gone.”

   “Life is for living, not for saving up,” Draco said firmly, and Harry huffed.

   “You got that from a book,” he challenged.

   “So?” Draco replied.  “It’s true.”

   Mrs Figg sighed and hobbled over to pat Harry’s back gently.  “I think I must agree with young Mr Malfoy on this,” she said sagely.  “Who knows what may happen tomorrow?  You must enjoy today as much as you can.  Besides, if we save the jam, we waste the scones, don’t we?”

   Harry thought about what she was saying.  “That’s true,” he admitted.  It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ jam and scones, he very much did.  However he felt guilty for eating it all up, as then they wouldn’t have any more until next summer. 

   “Plus,” said Draco.  “It’s practically Christmas, you’re supposed to have nice things at Christmas.”

   “Also true,” said Mrs Figg, raising her eyebrows to see if Harry agreed.  He supposed he did, and the jam had to be eaten at _some_ point.

   “Okay,” he said with a smile.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a Scrooge.”

   Mrs Figg ruffle his hair.  “You were just being thrifty,” she amended.  “Nothing wrong with that in times like these.” 

   There was a sudden knock at the door.  Three heads whipped around, not sure who it could be.  “I’ll get it,” Harry cried, as he was the closet, and he thought maybe it could be Neville or one of the other boys dropping round to play.  If it was, Mrs Figg might let them out of their chores early (or recruit whoever it was into helping, which would make the whole ordeal quicker too). 

   However, when he opened the door and let in a gust of freezing wind, he didn’t recognise the person on the other side.  She was an extremely beautiful woman, wrapped up in a huge fur coat, blonde hair peeking out from beneath a matching fur hat.  She looked extremely cold, clutching her coat lapels tightly to her body, the tip of her delicate nose a rosy pink.  She blinked at Harry.

   “Hello?” she said.

   “Hello?” said Harry back, unsure what else to do.  The woman seemed so utterly out of place in their small, mismatched cottage, but Harry didn’t get time to ponder any further before he was unceremoniously bowled out of the way.

   _“Mother!”_ Draco shouted in absolute joy, flinging himself into the woman’s arms.  Harry’s eyebrows shot up.  Of _course_ this was Draco’s mum!  The resemblance was uncanny, and he took a step back to watch as they embraced tightly, bright smiles and happy tears on their faces. 

   “Oh my darling boy,” Mrs Malfoy laughed as she pressed the back of her gloved hand to her cheek to mop up a pearly tear.  “How you’ve grown!”

   Mrs Figg limped over and placed her hand on Harry’s shoulder.  “Well isn’t this a lovely surprise,” she commented.  “Mrs Malfoy I presume?”

   Mrs Malfoy turned to hug Draco to her side with one arm, then extended the other towards Mrs Figg.  “And you must be the famous Mrs Figg I have heard so much about,” she said graciously as they shook hands.

   “And this is Harry!” Draco added, untangling himself and rushing over to push Harry in front of his mother, standing with his arm around his shoulders proudly.  Harry beamed. 

   “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs Malfoy,” he said, remembering his manners and offering up his hand for her to also shake.

   “Aren’t you just a darling Harry,” she said, taking his hand gently and giving it a squeeze.  “Draco has told me so much about you, I feel I know you already!”

   Another gust of wind tore in from outside, and Harry couldn’t help but yelp.  “Come in, come in,” Mrs Figg urged, waving them indoors and out of the elements.  “Otherwise we’ll all catch cold, and that will never do.”

   Several cats appeared once the door was closed, suspiciously inspecting the new arrival into the house, and Draco was quick to scoop up Shelley.  “Look Mother,” he said eagerly as Mrs Malfoy removed her hat and began undoing the buttons on her coat.  “Mrs Figg let me have my very own kitten!”

   If Mrs Malfoy was unsettled by so many feline admirers, she did a much better job than Harry or Draco would have done not showing it.  “How marvellous,” she said sincerely, folding her coat over her arm.

   “I’ll take that,” Harry said, springing to action, hefting the enormous coat to hang on the rack.

   “Please take a seat, won’t you Mrs Malfoy,” Mrs Figg said.  “You’ll stay for tea of course?”

   Mrs Malfoy pressed both her hands either side of Mrs Figg’s one that wasn’t holding the cane.  “Narcissa, Please,” she insisted.  “And that would be wonderful dear, thank you.”

   Harry automatically followed Mrs Figg into the kitchen, but he could hear as Draco and his mother both sat on the couch, the kitten hopping between them.  Draco was chatting in such an animated manner that Harry had never seen him use in front of other people before, just Harry, and mainly when he was talking about one of his story books, or a particularly fascinating bit of history.  His mother obviously brought out the best in him.  Harry grinned, loving how overjoyed Draco was at the surprise visit, and only a little sad that he hadn’t been able to see his own mum since the evacuation at all. 

   “Why don’t you pop the oven on?” Mrs Figg suggested at the kettle began to boil.  She gave Harry a nudge and a wink, snapping him from his brief melancholy.  “Let’s get those scones nice and warm, so they make the butter soft.”

   Harry’s eyes widened in excitement, delighted they had one whole pot of jam saved for this special occasion, just like he had wanted earlier.  He nodded eagerly, and over the next several minutes the two of them focused on getting the tea and scones arranged on Mrs Figg’s best crockery. 

   “And this is Harry’s kitten, isn’t it Harry?” Draco announced as they came back into the room with a loaded tray each.  Draco had both their pets on his lap, where they were pawing clumsily at each other.

   “His name is Treacle,” Harry told Mrs Malfoy proudly, happy to come back and be included in the conversation. 

   “He is a delight,” Mrs Malfoy assured him, stroking the ginger fur carefully.  “Now you and Mrs Figg-”

   “Arabella,” Mrs Figg interrupted, and Harry took a moment to realise she was telling Mrs Malfoy her first name.  He frowned.  He wasn’t sure even _he_ had known that.

   “Arabella,” Mrs Malfoy amended with a nod.  “You must both now sit, and I shall serve.”  Mrs Figg looked like she might protest, but Mrs Malfoy held up a finger.  “I shan’t tolerate any objections,” she said firmly.  “You allowed me to catch up with Draco whilst you prepared us our lunch, now we are all together and I have reclaimed some feeling in my fingers, I shall make myself useful.”

   Mrs Figg looked liked she might still have more to say, but Harry dropped down next to Draco so their legs were pressed together, and scooped up his kitten.  “Thank you Mrs Malfoy,” he said, putting the matter to rest.

   Mrs Figg sighed, and finally sat down too, cane propped up by the side of her armchair.  “So Draco,” she said.  “Did you have no idea your mother would be popping down today?”

   “None!” he enthused.  “What a good surprise hey?”

   “Are you going to stay long?” Harry asked, trying to stop himself bouncing up and down as Mrs Malfoy finished with the cups of tea, and began to prepare the sliced up scones.  His mouth was positively watering as he watched the golden butter melt. 

   She gave her son a knowing smile, but he just looked back, wide-eyed and hopeful.  “I’m to stay a month,” she announced.  “All the way until the new year.”

   Draco jolted so violently he almost dislodged Shelley.  “Are you serious!” he cried, throwing his arms around her, making her laugh.

   “Yes sweetheart,” she said, patting his back.  “I’m staying at the bed and breakfast, Father paid for it as my Christmas present.”

   Draco twisted violently and flung his arms around a rather surprised Harry.  “I’ll have almost all my whole family here for Christmas!” he practically shouted in his ear, and Harry laughed and hugged him back.

   A warm feeling flared through his insides.  Did that mean Draco thought of him and Mrs Figg as family too?  The idea brought a lump to his throat it was so nice.  “That’s brilliant,” he said enthusiastically. 

   “Not just me though,” Mrs Malfoy said to Draco.  “You’ll have your own room too at the hotel, with your own bed!”  She pinched her son’s cheek fondly.  “You’ve both been such troopers sharing like you have, you can both enjoy a little extra space for a few weeks.”

   “I am sorry about that-” Mrs Figg began, but Mrs Malfoy was quick to interrupt. 

   “Oh no my dear,” she said anxiously.  “I would never mean to slight the arrangement you have here, if I’ve been reading Draco’s letters correctly I feel both the boys see it as a marvellous bit of fun.”  Harry nodded cautiously.  This was skirting dangerously close to their ‘not talking about the bed’ rule.  “The selfish truth is that I’ve missed my son dreadfully – last Christmas in particular was quite horrid, being all alone.  So I’d just like to make up for a bit of lost time.”

   Mrs Figg picked up her cup of tea.  “That sounds perfectly reasonable to me,” she said before taking a sip.  “And that way both boys can snore to their hearts content and not wake the other up for a change.”

   “I don’t snore!” they both cried in chorus, but Mrs Figg grinned and winked at them.

   “Anyway,” said Harry, deciding if Mrs Figg had gone for her tea, he could help himself to a scone.  It was still warm in his hand, and he moaned a little when he bit into it.  “We’ll still see each other at school every day,” he mumbled around the crumbs.

   Mrs Figg scowled.  “Manners Mr Potter,” she grumbled, but by that point Draco had already snatched up his own scone, dripping with butter and jam, and both of them were fluttering their eyelids and groaning in contentment, so the admonishment was quite lost on both of them.

   Draco didn’t have much to pack, so he only had the suitcase he had brought with him from London to carry with him an hour or two later, and a pair of shoes that he was going to transport separately as they didn’t quite fit.  “You’ll meet me by the school gate?” he made Harry promise by the front door.

   “First thing tomorrow,” he agreed.  “And you can tell me all about the bed and breakfast, and about your dinner out!”  Mrs Malfoy had made reservations at a fancy restaurant in the bigger town over the way, but when Harry heard they actually served _snails_ he found he really wasn’t all that jealous. 

   He and Mrs Figg waved them off, waiting until they had walked all the way down the lane before closing the door, despite the biting December air.  “So now it’s just us two,” Mrs Figg sighed.

   “And about a hundred cats,” Harry joked, but inside he was feeling quite hollow.  He was as used to Draco being by his side as he was his own shadow, and now he wasn’t going to be living at home for a whole _month._   Without thinking, he bent down and scooped up Shelley the kitten, hugging her to his chest.  “At least you and Treacle don’t want to scratch me,” he said, nuzzling his nose into her fur. 

   “None of them want to scratch you,” Mrs Figg said with a tut, then shooed Harry away.  “Go on with you, I think I’ve held you captive enough for one day.  Go, have fun.”

   Harry though had lost his appetite for a walk.  Instead, he rummaged through Draco’s books, picking out _Treasure Island,_ and with a grey and golden kitten entourage, retreated to the attic to lose himself in someone else’s adventures for a while.  

   He told himself he would sleep better that night, like Mrs Figg had said.  With no one to slap his face or roll into him, how could he not?  However he found the reality to be that he was plagued with terrible nightmares, like the kind he used to have back in London, and he woke crying and trembling with no one to comfort him. 

   Over the next few days he tried to get used to his new routine, and smiled widely whenever Draco talked about the exciting things he and his mother were getting up to.  He was happy for him, he really was.  But with more and more news coming through about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour, and the Americans joining the war, Harry found his nerves to be even more on edge, and his dreams to be persistently unsettling. 

   Mrs Figg was determined to be cheerful, despite Harry’s mood, and he forced himself to try not to be such a stick-in-the-mud.  Draco’s absence was only going to last a few weeks, and then things would be back to normal.  He didn’t want to begrudge his best friend time away with his mother anyhow, that would be very mean spirited indeed.  And even though Pearl Harbour was a terrible tragedy, everyone was saying that it was a _good_ thing that America was now joining the war effort.  “Now we’ll send those Jerrys running,” Mrs Figg said one morning whilst reading the paper.  Gradually, his dreams about more bombings began to calm down again. 

   Harry got into the habit of letting both Treacle and Shelley sneak up to his and Draco’s bedroom, even though he wasn’t supposed to, and having their extra weight on the bed, no matter how nominal, helped him sleep a little better at night.  The nightmares were still worse than when Draco was there, but it was hard to lie in the dark crying when there were two mewling fluff balls there to cuddle.

   The next weekend, he helped Mrs Figg put up her battered Christmas decorations; they may have been older than he was, but they cheered Harry up immensely with their bright colours and gay sparkle.  They went to the carol service at the local church on the Saturday night, and Mrs Figg even let him have half a cup of mulled wine, which made his head swim alarmingly but he rather enjoyed it all the same.

   By the time Harry awoke on Christmas Day, his morale was suitably lifted again.  He’d still had a nightmare of some description in the early hours of the morning, but Treacle’s gentle purring had lulled him back to sleep without too much bother.

   “Merry Christmas,” he told his and Draco’s cats as they climbed all over him, meowing to be fed and to be let outside to do whatever it was cats do in gardens.  “I hope you got me something good?”

   Treacle’s gold and orange face looked at him curiously, and he laughed and rubbed his head.  “It’s okay,” he joked.  “I know cats can’t buy presents, I don’t mind.  I still got you some special tuna fish with my _own_ pocket money.”

   _“Meow,”_ said Treacle, swishing his tail.

   Harry eagerly got washed and dressed, finally able to wear the splendid jumper Ron’s mum had knitted and posted him last week.  It was a riot of colour, and was covered in a pattern of presents boxes with big bows tied on top.  “Spiffing,” he said in a silly voice to himself in the mirror, but Shelley gave a loud meow of agreement, and that was good enough for Harry.

   “Merry Christmas Mrs Figg!” he hollered as he came charging down the stairs, and Mrs Figg grabbed him for a big hug and a kiss. 

   “Merry Christmas my darling,” she said.  She was dressed in a rather jolly green dress that clashed wonderfully with her pink and brown slippers, and had the wireless on playing cheery Christmas jingles.  

   They started by cutting into the Christmas cake she had painstakingly saved up to make back in October, collecting the necessary ingredients over the period of a couple of ration books.  Harry made the tea as she sectioned off two big slices for their breakfast.

   “I thought we might open presents,” Mrs Figg suggested.  “Then go for a walk?” 

   Last year, both he and Draco had been a lot more reserved about the prospect of their first Christmas away from home, and it had been hard for Mrs Figg to get them to do much more than eat their lunch and open a few presents. This year however, Harry was determined to be a much better sport, his glumness over Draco’s absence included.  “Could we visit Mr Figg?” he asked, knowing Mrs Figg would like that.  “I found some remarkable holly I thought he might like, it’s extremely green.”

   “Just like your eyes, hey lad?” she agreed cheerfully.  “That sounds lovely.  Then we could pop in to church and say a few prayers?”

   Harry nodded.  “Then home for lunch.”  Christmas dinner, even during wartime, was still one of the best meals of the year to Harry’s mind.  They had a small turkey to roast, and even a little bacon, as well as vegetables from the garden and the last of the blackberry jam, which was a pretty clever substitute for cranberry sauce. 

   It wasn’t the most extravagant day, but Harry was exceedingly happy with their plan nonetheless. 

   Except a knock at the door came just as he was about to sink his teeth into his rich fruitcake, and he paused to raise his eyebrows at Mrs Figg sat beside him at the kitchen table.  “Probably a neighbour come to give us well-wishes,” she said after a moment’s thought.  “Why don’t you run and answer, they’ll be dazzled by your new jumper.”

   Harry grinned and ran through the living room, heaving the heavy wooden door open to great their guests. 

   _“Merry Christmas!”_ Draco and Narcissa Malfoy cried.

   Harry just stared for a moment, utterly stunned.  “You’re here?” he squeaked.

   “Of course,” Mrs Malfoy laughed.  “Christmas time is for spending with family after all.”

   Draco was tugging a large wheeled shopping bag behind him as he bustled into the house.  “And look at all we’ve bought you!”

   “My goodness,” Mrs Figg remarked, coming in to see the Malfoys, several cats trailing behind her.  “You do know how to make an entrance, don’t you?”

   “The surprise was Draco’s idea,” said Mrs Malfoy fondly, though Harry got the impression that maybe she had wanted to warn them of their intended arrival in advance.

   Draco though looked extremely pleased with himself.  “Just how Mother surprised me,” he said.  “I said last year we stayed in the whole day, so we shouldn’t be disrupting any plans.”

   “No plans that can’t be jigged about,” said Mrs Figg happily.  “Although, I’m worried we won’t have enough to feed everyone?”

   Mrs Malfoy placed her hand on her chest.  “As if we would impose ourselves on you without thinking to bring provisions?”  She smiled widely and prettily as she and Draco opened the zipper to their shopping trolley, and Harry gasped when he saw what was inside.  A whole hock of ham was neatly wrapped up, more potatoes and cabbage to go with the carrots and peas from the garden, as well as flour, eggs and milk. 

   “Mother would like to make us her Yorkshire puddings,” Draco said proudly as they deposited the last of the food supplies on the table.  “They are simply divine.” 

   “This is too much,” Mrs Figg thickly, but Mrs Malfoy shook her head. 

   “Arabella,” she said warmly as two very fancy bottles of red wine were produced.  Harry was almost certain they had to have come from the black market, but the look of joy on Mrs Figg’s face made him decide it was worth it.  “You have housed my son for over a year, and look set to continue to do so for the foreseeable future.  It is my absolute pleasure to be able to share some of our harder-to-come-by items with you.”

   “We shall have a wonderful day,” Draco announced, and took Harry’s hand to give it a good squeeze.

   Harry hadn’t really appreciated how much he had missed his friend until that moment, when he suddenly felt quite overwhelmed, numerous thoughts tumbling through his mind all at once.  He missed Draco by his side, the way they would always reach out for the other’s hand, how they would sleep knowing the other was just beside them, how they would tickle and push and hug each other.  And now, with their hands connected once again, something in Harry broke just a little, and he flung his arms around Draco, burying his face in his shoulder to try and mask his unwanted tears. 

   He vaguely heard someone make a noise of pity, but he was mostly focused on Draco hugging him tightly.  “Why are you sad?” he whispered.

   Harry shook his head.  “Not sad,” he said.  At least, he didn’t think he was, it was hard to tell.  He missed his mother and father terribly, and thinking about the war getting worse made his insides writhe, but that wasn’t why he was crying.  “Happy,” he mumbled with a wet chuckle at his own silliness. 

   “Oh my dear,” he heard Mrs Malfoy say, and felt her hand stroke the back of his head.  “It’s alright.”

   After a minute more, Harry composed himself enough to let go of Draco and step sheepishly back.  “Sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his jumper.

   “Nothing to be sorry about,” said Mrs Figg gruffly, her cheeks a little pink herself.  “What’s say we get this meat in the slow cooker, and pop the rest in the larder for later?”  

   “And then we can do presents!” Draco said, his hand still in Harry’s.  “Mother, can I show Harry our special present now?”

   He looked fit to burst with excitement, and Harry felt a guilty spike of interest.  He didn’t want to be greedy, but he hadn’t expected a present from Draco’s parents. 

   “Go on then,” Mrs Malfoy said kindly, already helping to move the food into the kitchen.

   So Draco tugged Harry to the front door, and Harry watched on in bewilderment as they stepped outside .  He had definitely seen their wrapped up presents in the lower half of the wheelie bag.  “Why are we going outside?” he asked, confused and still a little shaken from his unexpected tears. 

   “That’s why!” Draco said.

   Harry stared in disbelief.  There were two bicycles propped up against the side of the cottage wall.  “What on Earth-?” he uttered.

   “They’re from Father,” he gushed.  “I told him that’s how everyone gets around in the country.  One for you and one for me!”

   Harry was too stunned to well up again, or even shiver in the terrible cold wind.  “A bike?” he breathed.  “For me?”

   Draco nodded and pulled him over to inspect them closer.  They were matching, except one was green, and the other was red.  “You can pick the one you like the best,” he said quietly.

   But Harry shook his head.  “No, you pick yours first,” he said.  “It’s only fair.”

   Draco bit his lip.  Harry worried he might insist on him picking which one he wanted, and he really didn’t feel comfortable doing that.  He would be happy with whichever one Draco didn’t want.  “Well,” he said slowly.  “I do rather like the green,” he said hopefully.

   Harry’s face lit up.  “And I like the red,” he announced truthfully.  “Perfect!”

   And indeed, it was perfect, the whole day was.

   They went back in to open all their other presents (including a can of tuna for a couple of hungry little kittens) and Harry was delighted to receive a new pair of shoes, a couple of books, lots of sweets, some socks, and last of all, a set of replica toy spitfire planes from his parents.  “You must have one,” he told Draco, holding one of the matching two out for him, extremely content that he was able to share a present back, even if it was small.

   They left Mrs Figg and Mrs Malfoy with a glass of crimson wine each and a feast to prepare, whilst they took their new bicycles out for a spin.  Harry hadn’t ridden in a long time, and his new bike was quite different to the old one his parents had had, but he soon got the hang of riding it again.  It was like some sort of flying, and the boys shrieked as they hurtled down the muddy paths, hot and sweaty despite the fresh flakes of snow falling quietly around them.

   Dinner was one of the best Harry had ever eaten, and as such he ate until he was sure he might be sick.  That didn’t stop him from having some of the Christmas pudding though, because Mrs Figg lit it on _fire_ , and you couldn’t miss an opportunity to have a pudding that had genuinely been on fire.  It was completely worth it too when he found the silver sixpence in his helping.  “I’m rich!” he joked, holding up his prize.

   After another bike ride, a visit to the graveyard to pay respects to Mr Figg, and a prayer in the local church, Harry and his adopted family made their way wearily back to the cottage.  “I suppose we ought to be heading back to the hotel,” Mrs Malfoy said after they’d had a restorative cup of tea.

   Draco bit his lip, glanced at Harry, then back to Mrs Malfoy.  “Mother,” he said timidly.  “I was wondering…would you mind terribly if I stayed here tonight, in my room?”

   Harry blinked in surprise, suddenly a great deal more awake.  Draco wanted to stay at home?

   “Surely you want to make the most of having your own bed love?” Mrs Figg asked, but Draco bit his lip again worriedly, and looked to Harry for support.

   Harry wasn’t sure what to say, he was so torn.  He knew they were never supposed to say how nice it was sharing a bed, because that wasn’t something friends really did, it was something families did.  But Draco _was_ practically family to him, and if he was honest he had missed having him next to him at night quite terribly.  “Shelley would like that,” he said, blurting out the most idiotic thing that came into his head.

   But Draco’s eyes lit up.  “Yes, I’d love to spend some time with Shelley,” he said keenly, picking up the kitten sleeping by his feet as if to prove a point. 

   Mrs Malfoy was already smiling though.  “Of course you can stay here,” she said.  “It is your home after all, and we have another week to enjoy our little holiday at the B and B.”

   Draco grinned at Harry in victory, and he grinned right back. 

   Shortly afterwards, they bid Mrs Malfoy a goodnight, and Mrs Figg didn’t have too much trouble ushering two overtired boys into the bathroom to brush their teeth and get into their pyjamas.  “These are a bit small on you now,” she said, handing Draco his old pair, and his current one was at the hotel.  “But they should still do.”

   When they crawled into bed, Harry knew he was going to sleep the best he had all week, and was pleasantly surprised when Draco rolled over and pulled him into a hug.  “Night night Harry,” he mumbled.

   In that moment, Harry knew Draco had missed sharing their bed as much as he had, despite having a lovely time with his mother, and the realisation made his heart swell.  “Night night Draco,” he said.

   From somewhere near the foot of the bed, one of their cats meowed in their own little goodnight too.

   Out of all the gifts he had received that day, Harry fell asleep deciding that this moment right then was the best Christmas present he had got of them all. 

 


	4. Chapter Four

 

**September 8 th 1943**

 

   “Surrender you blaggards!”

   “Never! _Daga daga daga!”_

   “Is that supposed to sound like a gun?  Or an Italian accent?  Because it sounds like neither.”

   Harry smirked to himself as he walked past the Creevey brothers playing with half a dozen or so of their friends on the school playground.  “It does so,” the youngest, Dennis, protested.  “That’s the noise a gun makes.”

   Colin, the elder, made a noise like a raspberry being blown through his lips, and several of the other boys laughed alongside him.  “That’s the sound a gun makes,” he insisted as Harry and Draco strolled on by. 

   “If any of those boys heard a real gun they would most likely faint,” Draco said snootily, but Harry wasn’t going to be dissuaded from his good mood. 

   “Oh come off it Draco,” he said, bumping their shoulders together.  "A year or two ago we would have been playing the very same game.”

   “Italy surrendering is not a game,” he said seriously looking ahead, but Harry was still grinning at him from the side, determined.

   “No,” he said playfully.  “But it is _bloody_ marvellous!”

   There had been word delivered to the school earlier that day that Italy had officially laid down arms against Great Britain and the United States, bringing them an enormous step closer to ending the war, and Harry was pleased to see the smile creep over his best friend’s face.

   “We don’t know what will happen next,” he warned, but his grey eyes were sparkling.  The early autumn sunlight was strong despite the leaves beginning to fall from the trees and the air was still warm and balmy, clinging resolutely to summer.  It was just over three years to the day that Harry and Draco had arrived in Little Whinging, and while Harry would never have thought they would have still been there, that the war could have gone on so long, he couldn’t deny the taste of hope he felt in the air at that moment. 

   “No,” he agreed.  “But it’s still a good move, it’s a step in the right direction.  Just think – at this rate the whole affair could be over by Christmas!”

   Draco grinned widely at that.  “Always such an optimist,” he said, and Harry pinched him in his side, earning him a delightful squeal as he hopped out of Harry’s reach. 

   “Get off me you beast,” he cried.

   “Imagine it though,” Harry said, not willing to be distracted long.  “Back in London, with our mothers _and_ fathers, wouldn’t that be something!”

   Draco slipped his hands into his pockets as they turned down one of the lanes, cutting through the woods.  “It would be remarkable,” he said, breathing out sombrely.  “It wouldn’t be like it was before though.”

   “Well no,” said Harry, because that was obvious to him.  “It’ll be better.  Because now we’re friends.”

   Draco nodded.  “Perhaps mother could persuade the school to let us be in the same lessons still?”

   “Absolutely,” Harry said with enthusiasm, darting over an old puddle and making his gasmask box bounce on the back of his thigh.  “I’ll even start taking Latin with you.”

   Draco laughed loudly.  “You’re hopeless at Latin,” he teased.  “You can’t string two words together!”

   “That’s because I haven’t tried properly,” Harry boasted, walking backwards so he was facing Draco walking behind him.  “You’ll just have to tutor me.”

   “There’s only room for so many miracles at a time Potter,” he drawled, looking at him through his eyelashes.  “I think the surrender of Italy will have to suffice for this year.”

   Harry growled and lunged to tackle him, but Draco used his extra height and dashed away as he barked out a laugh.   “Come back here you devil!”

   “You’ll have to catch me first!”

   Harry sprinted after him, cackling with glee as they crashed through the trees into the cooler shadows of the forest.  “It’s cheating when you have the legs of a _giraffe_ at your disposal,” Harry bellowed after him, shoving his glasses back up his nose where they slipped.  “But you’re no match for me!”

   “Big words Potter, coming from such a little man!” Draco flashed a smile over his shoulder and darted down their well trodden path that lead up to the blackberry bushes.  It was highly unlikely there would still be any left after they and the wildlife had picked the shrubs clean over the summer, but it was where they often found themselves headed whenever they came into the forest out of habit.  It was their secret space, where they would sit and talk for hours, fruit to eat or not. 

   Eventually Harry did catch up with Draco, but he merely slung his arms around his waist and spun him around.  “I told you I’d win,” he chuckled as they both stumbled free, and Harry let his hair be ruffled affectionately for a second before he batted Draco away.  He liked doing that to remind Harry of the couple of inches he had over him, and Harry liked to pretend it annoyed him.  Secretly though, he always thought it was nice to feel Draco’s fingers through his hair, even though that was probably a strange reaction to have. 

   “You should join my football team,” Harry said as they began to stroll along the make-shift path, catching their breath. 

   Draco sighed.  “We’ve been through this,” he said, and they had, after a year or two of Harry patiently probing and encouraging Draco to play.  “Father doesn’t like it, he thinks it’s for commoners.”

   Harry tutted.  “Football is for everyone,” he said defiantly, although from what he’d gleaned of Mr Malfoy, he might be overestimating his bravery were he to ever meet him in person.  “Besides, when he sees you in midfield, he’ll soon change his mind, you’re a menace on the pitch!”

   Draco smiled shyly at him.  “We’ll see,” he said.

   They walked a little further in silence, almost at their blackberry patch.  “I suppose,” Harry piped up, striving to keep his voice level.  “It will be strange not living together anymore.” 

   It was the only (rather selfish) thought that put a dampener on his elation at the prospect of the end of the conflict.  He had grown so accustomed to Draco always being there, by his side, that he wasn’t sure who he was any more without him there to turn to.  As much as he longed to go back home and be with his parents, it would be a little empty without Draco there whenever he wanted to talk to him.

   Draco thought on that a moment.  “You’re right,” he said.  “But, I’m sure I could persuade Mother to have a room set up for you, so you could stay whenever you wanted.  There are so many, we never fill them all with guests, not even at dinner parties.  You can have your own all the time, for whenever you want it, we’ll even decorate it how you want!”

   Harry looked over to him as they flopped to the forest floor, the grass in front of the sparse blackberry bush bathed in a pleasant pool of afternoon sunshine.  “Would you really do that?” he asked, a strange little hope in his chest.  It wouldn’t be like sharing their bed, but it would be lovely to know he had a permanent place at Draco’s home.  It warmed his skin as much as the sunlight.   

   “Of course,” said Draco, leaning back on his hands.  “I’ve grown so used to tormenting you, Mother would most likely sling me out into the street if I suddenly turned my talents on her, I’d need to keep you by my side to stop me from harassing her!”

   Harry shoved him, and Draco shoved him back, laughter bubbling at the back of their throats.  Harry left his shoulder resting against Draco’s, and mimicked him by leaning on his hands too.  “Seriously though, you think your parents wouldn’t mind?”

   “Not at all,” Draco said seriously.  “Mother adores you, and Father adores Mother, so will do whatever she says.  Once he’s back from the war, you’ll be able to meet him and I’m sure you’ll both get on splendidly.”

   “Even though I’m…”  Poor.  He wanted to say poor.  He lived in a small terraced house, and Draco lived in a five story mansion.  “Not like your other friends,” he finished instead.

   Draco looked over at him, sincerity in his eyes.  “You have courage and selflessness in your heart Harry,” he said quietly.  “My father will respect that, I assure you.”

   Harry held his gaze a little while.  It should have been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t.  “You think I’m brave?” he asked, touched. 

   “And unselfish,” Draco said with a nod.  “A little pigheaded sometimes-”  Harry slapped him lightly on the arm, but they were both laughing.  “But yes, you’re a good sort Harry Potter, you’ll be a good man, anyone can see that.”

   Harry bit his lip, and warmth spreading through his chest.  Draco had never said such openly kind things about him like that.  “Well,” he said, a little nervous.  “You’re a good sort too.  You’re clever and trust-worthy, and loyal.  I’m sure my parents will like you very much when you meet them too.” 

   Draco pulled at the grass, tearing several blades off.  “I’m not good with people,” he said quietly.  “I don’t present a good first impression like you do.”  He raised his eyes to search Harry’s.  “I would hate for your family to think I was cold, merely because I was unsure of what to say?”

   Harry thought back to their first few weeks together in Little Whining, the first day in particular when Draco had been so standoffish it had been borderline rudeness, only to collapse into desperate tears once they were behind closed doors.  How Harry had had to stay by his side at school and introduce the both of them to their fellow students, how he’d gradually eased Draco into their games and conversations with the little snippets of information he’d learned about his life, speaking on his behalf until Draco reclaimed his own voice. 

   But it had been a long time since Harry had had to act as Draco’s protector or his guide.  Draco was friends with all Harry’s friends in the village, and had even made one or two of his own from when his mother had visited and she had introduced him to some acquaintances that Harry had yet to meet.  (Not that he minded, much.  It was understandable that Draco would meet other boys from well off families that Harry wouldn’t have anything particularly in common with.  He told himself that was alright.) 

   “You’re different now though,” Harry said warmly.  “You’ve made lots of friends here, so even if you’ve a bit worried meeting new people in London at first, you’ll soon come out of your shell like you did here too.”

   “You think?” Draco asked.

   Harry shrugged.  “You’ve always got something interesting to say,” he told him genuinely.  “I don’t think you’ll struggle to make a good impression.”

   Draco rolled his eyes.  “That’s just because _you_ seem to find all my useless nonsense fascinating,” he teased.  “Normal people don’t care how many years the Great Wall of China took to build, or how gravity works, they find it terribly dull.”

   Harry stuck his chin out.  “That just makes normal people terribly dull then,” he said.  “And who wants to be friends with them anyway?”

   Draco barked out a laugh, and Harry followed, both of them collapsing to the ground in mirth.  “You’re right,” Draco chuckled, giving Harry a tickle that made him yelp.  “Normal is rubbish.”

   “Let’s promise to never be normal,” Harry announced, flinging his hands up to the sky, making his vow to the whole universe.  Then he turned and stuck out his hand out for Draco to shake.  “Swear?” he said, his heart suddenly fluttering.  “That we’ll never be normal or boring?”

   Draco looked at the proffered hand a moment, then took it firmly.  “I promise,” he said sombrely.  “That you, Harry Potter, and I, Draco Malfoy, shall never be normal or boring.”

   They were lying on their sides now, hands still clasped and resting on the grass, looking at one another naturally.  Harry shifted his fingers so they were laced together with Draco’s, his skin cool as always against Harry’s.  He had an urge to say something more, but he got the feeling he was saying quite a lot in that moment without needing to open his mouth, so decided not to spoil it.  He hoped though that Draco knew how lucky he felt to have met him, how important he was to him, how he always wanted to be friends and to have him in his life. 

   His feelings were overwhelming him, and he couldn’t help but pull Draco into a hug, the way they did at night sometimes.  Draco allowed it without any resistance, sliding his other arm around Harry’s back to pull him close.  The squeeze he gave with his hand seemed to convey all the same emotions Harry had been experiencing, and he felt such a surge of fierce love he trembled. 

   “What’s wrong?” Draco murmured.

   Harry shook his head.  “Nothing,” he said, pulling his head back so he was face to face with Draco, their noses only an inch or so apart.  His pale skin was like milk, his lashes and brows golden in the autumnal sunlight.  Harry had never really noticed the pale rose colour of his lips before, or the sort of heart shape they made, but now he was captivated by them. 

   He didn’t want to lose this, this special closeness they had.  He felt a swell of panic in him at the thought of no longer sharing a room, let alone their bed, of not being able to turn in the night and find comfort in his best friend beside him.  He didn’t want this to end, the best thing to have come out of their evacuation, and he felt a lump rise in his throat.  If the war really was coming to a close, he should be happy, but in that moment the only thing he could see was Draco, and how he would surely lose him. 

   His mind was not right, he was consumed by selfish and unreasonable emotions.  That was the only reason he could fathom afterwards, to explain why without thinking, he leaned over, and pressed his lips to Draco’s. 

   For a second or two, the entire world stopped, and he was lost in the perfect connection they shared.  But then reality came crashing back down, and both boys pulled apart in shock.

   “I’m sorry!” Harry cried, scrabbling away, sickened by the horror and confusion he was witnessing on Draco’s face as they both hastily sat back up, several feet away from each other.  He covered his mouth with his hands, as if he could undo what had just been done.  “I’m so sorry Draco!  That was unnatural, I don’t know what came over me!”

   Draco was staring at him breathing shallowly, and Harry could feel fresh tears pricking at his eyes, but for different reasons than before.  Draco was disgusted with him.  “Boys don’t kiss other boys,” he said quietly, his gaze never leaving Harry’s.  “Boys kiss girls, mothers kiss fathers.”

   “I know,” Harry said miserably, covering his glasses with his hands and squeezing his eyes shut in shame.  “I honestly don’t know what came over me, please,” he begged.  “Please Draco, don’t be angry, please forgive me.”

   He couldn’t seem to stop the tears from escaping and running down his cheeks, humiliation flaring across his body like he’d been lit on fire.  Because the truth was, he had _very much_ wanted to kiss Draco, it had seemed _entirely_ natural in that split-second.  What was wrong with him, how could he have let his mind become so confused?

   He choked back a sob, his whole body shaking, and his eyes still firmly shut.  Half of him wanted Draco to just go, to leave him to his disgrace, but the other half couldn’t bear to think what would happen next between them if he did.  He needed to know Draco understood, that he accepted his apology. 

   Which is why, when he felt the hand gently touch his knee, he snatched his hands down and looked at his best friend immediately.

   He had crawled over to sit in front of him, worry and concern clear on his face.  “Harry,” he said, his grey eyes wide.  “It’s okay.  The war sometimes makes people do funny things, I read about it.  Sometimes it makes people cry or be scared when they shouldn’t really.  It was probably just something like that.”

   Harry hiccupped, and tried to process what Draco was saying.  He had been terribly troubled in that moment about how their lives might change when they moved back to London.  His thoughts had probably got confused, and Draco was saying that was okay if it had.

   “You forgive me?” he asked.  “Truly?”

   Draco smiled.  “You certainly gave me a bit of a fright,” he said with a nervous laugh.  “But we can forget all about it, alright?  We can never mention it again, pretend it never happened.”

   Harry knew that was exactly what he should want Draco to say, but for some inexplicable reason he _didn’t_ want Draco to just forget it.  He always liked how they touched, it was so casual, so natural, the way they hugged and leaned back to back, and how they sometimes held hands when there was thunderstorms at night.  The kiss had just seemed like another kind of touching, and he had felt peaceful doing it, even if only for a second. 

   But the truth was it _wasn’t_ natural, Harry knew that.  Boys kissed girls, not other boys.  So he took a deep, shuddery breath, and managed to force a smile of relief and open his heart up to accept that Draco’s forgiveness and understanding was exactly what he should be hoping for.

   “You’re the best friend anyone could ask for,” he said, rubbing his wet cheeks on his sleeves.  “We shan’t mention it again, everything will be fine.”

   Draco sighed happily, and threw his arms a little awkwardly around Harry.  “Everything will be fine,” he repeated firmly.

   Inside though, Harry wasn’t so sure.  He couldn’t shake the feeling that things between them had changed, and it wasn’t just at the prospect of moving back home to their own families again.  He felt something dark lurking in the pit of his stomach which prophesised that he, in a reckless act of only a second, had ruined their friendship forever. 

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains warnings for internalised homophobia and thoughts alluding to self-harm/suicide. 
> 
> For readers outside the UK, ‘R.A.F.’ stands for the British ‘Royal Air Force’.

 

 

**July 31 st 1944**

 

   The sun was blazing down, and there was sweat running down Harry’s back as he worked.  He rubbed the droplets beading on his forehead irritably with the sleeve of his t-shirt, trying his best not to get any flecks of paint on his face. 

   The project was going well, he had to admit, and just because it was his birthday he hadn’t wanted to let a good day’s weather go to waste.  But maybe he was starting to think this wasn’t his best idea as Draco huffed again, making long sweeps with his paintbrush along the freshly scrubbed outside of the cottage.

   Mrs Figg was still pretty agile for a lady of her age, managing rather well with preparing their meals and keeping on top of the housework, especially when both Harry and Draco were perfectly fine pitching in as much as they could.  But over the four years they had spent in Little Whining, the cottage had fallen into disrepair in many areas.  Harry had decided over the last six months, since spring had sprung and the weather had made outdoor work more palatable, that they owed it to their guardian to try and fix what they could. 

   Besides, it wasn’t like he had much else to distract himself with since last September.

   He had hoped that cleaning the gutters and weeding the garden would allow him and Draco some space from each other.  Draco, after all, preferred a good book over anything else, and Harry had intended to do the chores by himself to give them both the room to breathe they evidently needed.  But Draco, damn him, insisted on joining in at every turn.  Perhaps he felt guilty letting Harry do the work, but that was the _point,_ and it frustrated Harry that he couldn’t even do this right for their relationship. 

   He blamed himself entirely.  If he hadn’t lost his faculties completely, their friendship would not now be holding on by a thread.  He had wanted to accept that Draco had forgiven him for his inappropriate behaviour, but that was hard to do when he couldn’t even forgive himself. 

  It hadn’t been hard to see the shift.  The way Draco stayed up reading late so Harry could go to bed first, the way he walked just a little bit further away when they came back from school, the hesitancy he had to always sit beside Harry in lessons, finding excuses to pair off with other boys if he could.

   It was Harry’s fault, completely.  He had given in to a moment of madness, and now it was only right that Draco should be skittish of him.  _So why?_ he thought savagely as he dragged his paint brush up and down as high as it could go on the wall.  _Why would he not just let it be!  Why was he painting the house too!_   Harry had offered him the opportunity to spend less time with him, and yet here he was, still by his side, reminding him that things had changed and would probably never go back to the way they were. 

   It was insult to injury.  That, and the fact that Draco had a new friend now that Harry had to do his level best not to get jealous of, because he _wanted_ he and Draco to spend less time together, so they could have space to move on from the kiss in the woods.  But every time Theodore bloody Nott’s name came up, Harry had to work very hard not to break anything. 

   Theo was one of the friends Draco knew through his mother’s acquaintances, and he lived a couple of towns over so Draco had to take a bus to go see him.  Harry had assumed in the beginning that would mean they only got together once in a blue moon, but it seemed recently that they were seeing each other every other day, and Harry would have been lying if he didn’t admit that broke his heart.

   He tried, extremely hard, not to be bitter and resentful, because Draco _should_ have a friend that had presumably never harboured any perverted thoughts towards him.  But that was how Harry had gotten into this whole mess; he couldn’t help the way he felt. 

   Draco was the other half of himself, and he had forgotten what life had been like without him always by his side.  But the developments over the past several months had reminded him quite keenly what life was like without him, and Harry had never felt more empty. 

   Draco obviously did not feel the same, and had naturally drifted away from his odd friend, who had willed a _war to continue_ just so he could stay with his best friend a little longer. 

   Well, he had gotten his wish.  The war was still very much in action, and he and Draco were still sharing a bed.  The difference now was, he went to sleep most nights feeling sick and awkward, unable to fix the terrible rift that had grown between them. 

   _Your fault, your fault, your fault,_ his thoughts sang as his brush glided up and down, white paint drops running down towards the lush green grass, forcing him to keep alert so they wouldn’t cause a mess.  He had ruined everything.  He would have been happy to have just carried on with their silly play-fights, their sharing of food, their unacknowledged cuddles in the night when either one was sad or scared.  Harry keenly missed the way Draco used to chat to him about any old idea that popped into his head, or how he would recount whatever interesting fact he had read in one of his books that day.  Gradually, inch by inch, Harry had suffered what he had feared most would happen anyway, regardless of the war.  He had lost his connection with the person he cared for the most in the whole world after his mother and father. 

   As Draco spent more and more time with Theo, Harry had penned letters to Ron daily.  He often took his bike to call on Neville, Dean and Seamus, even Justin Finch-Fletchley when he grew desperate enough, as Justin was rather a bore.  But at least he wasn’t repulsed by Harry’s company.  On the contrary, he was rather flattered by it.  He and Draco still held a sort of celebrity status as ‘Londoners’, despite having been in the countryside many years now.  But as much as Harry liked his friends, not one of them held Draco’s sly wit, his calculated observations, his wild imagination. 

   And then there were his eyes. 

   Harry knew it wasn’t right to think on another boy’s eyes the way he did with Draco, and had tried valiantly to afford the same attention to some of the local girls, like Lavender Brown or Hannah Abbot.  But the terrible bother was, not many people had truly grey eyes, certainly not ones that practically sparkled silver in the sunlight.  So nobody else could measure up, and so Harry was doomed.

  _Why him!  What had he done wrong?_   He had kept himself awake during already stressful nights with these thoughts.  What had he done to deserve these unnatural thoughts?  Was this, like Draco had said, due to stress because of the war?  _How weak was he?_   _Why couldn’t he control it?_

   Harry had wondered, from time to time, if Draco now _pitied_ him.  He had never been unkind after all, just increasingly distant.  Was this his way of trying to let Harry go kindly?

   He screwed up his eyes and tried to focus on the birds twittering in the tress all around them.  The sunlight permeated through his lids though, a stabbing awareness that wouldn’t let him escape reality, even for a moment. 

   There was something wrong with him.

   “Are you just going to keep going over that same bit over and over again?” Draco drawled.  A few months ago, Harry would have called the tone playful, but now it was like nails on a chalkboard. 

   He opened his eyes, and realised he had indeed been painting over the same section many times, and his shoulders tensed.  “I got lost in thought,” he said defensively, edging over to his next section, which unfortunately brought him closer to Draco.  “Besides, at least I’m going all the way to the bottom, you’re missing spots.”

   Draco frowned and looked down.  To be fair, there were only a few patches where he hadn’t quite got the white paint all the way down to the cottage’s foundation, but Harry didn’t like him criticising him, even in jest.  He _knew_ he was a mess, why did Draco have to rub it in? 

   “Sorry,” Draco mumbled, crouching down with a freshly loaded brush.  “I’ll pay more attention.”

   Harry balled his free fist in frustration.  Why was _he_ now the villain?  “You don’t have to do this at all you know,” he griped.

   “Well you’re the one who volunteered to _chores_ on his birthday,” Draco shot back, not looking up. 

   Harry felt the hot prick of tears at the back of his eyes, but resolutely forced them back.  “It’s not like my birthday was ever going to be anything special anyway,” he said, his voice furiously calm. 

   He felt more than saw Draco look up at him.  “Why would you say that?” he asked, and Harry shrugged, unable to quell his own misery within himself for much longer. 

   “It’s a Monday,” he all but growled.  And it was, they had suffered through a morning’s lessons, and then come out in the afternoon sunshine to start the paint job.  “Monday birthdays are useless.  Besides,” he said, getting to his real bugbear.  “You often see Theo on Mondays.”

   There was a slightly pregnant pause, in which time the only sound was Harry’s paint brush slapping angrily against the wall.  “So?” Draco asked slowly.  “What does Theo have to do with this?”

   “I figured you would be seeing him,” Harry snapped.   _Slap, slide, slide.  Slap, slide, slide._

   “On your birthday?” Draco said. 

   It was the fact his voice was sad, that was what Harry thought maybe broke him.  That he was hurt.  “I thought I’d be doing you a favour,” he snarled, blinking back the tears that threatened again and plunging his brush so far into the paint tin he almost coated his fingers too.  “I thought I’d do some work, and you could run off on the bus, and everyone would be happier.”

   Draco had stood up now, and rested his brush on top of the pot.  “You thought I would ignore your birthday?” he asked, a steely tone to his voice that Harry didn’t like. 

   “Draco, I’m done,” he said.  “I don’t want you pretending to be my friend when it’s clearly…not what you want.”  He bit his words out, blurry vision focused on the bricks in front of him.  “It’s insulting.”

   “Insulting?”

   There was no mistaking the anger there, but that just made Harry even more distraught.  “Yes, insulting!” he barked, finally turning to face his former best friend.  “I did something…terrible…unforgivable, but I told you I was sorry, and I though you believed me!”  He threw his brush down, not caring that it splattered the grass.  Grass would grow, could be replaced.  Other things were not so fortunate.  “But you’ve just drifted away slowly instead, why couldn’t you just be honest with me!”

   “Honest?  Honest!”  Draco cried.  “What’s this sudden obsession with honesty!”

   “Because _I_ was honest, I said I didn’t know _why_ I did what I did, that it sickened me, that I had no control, and yet you won’t stop _judging_ me for it!”  He gasped for air, still furiously blinking back tears but they seemed determined to fall anyway.  “Theo’s like you, he’s rich and he’s normal, so why in _God’s name_ are you here painting this _stupid house_ with me?”

   “Because we’re friends,” Draco shouted.  “And although you’ve been an insufferable berk for months, I thought _maybe_ that would change today, that you might throw off this awful grump you’ve been wallowing in.”

   “I’m not in a grump!” Harry cried, incredulous.

   Draco folded his arms.  “If we’re being _honest._   Yes.  You are.  And I’m tired of it.”

   “You’re…” Harry spluttered.  “You’re _tired_ of it!”  He jammed his hands into his hair, vibrating with rage.  “Of course, if you’re _tired_ of something, you can leave, move on to the next thing, that’s just what it’s like for you people isn’t it?”

   “What _people!”_ Draco demanded.  “Harry, this is ridiculous – you wanted to paint the bloody house, rather than behaving like a normal person and celebrating, _so I painted the house with you._   And now, what?  You think I’m doing this to punish you or something?”

   “I don’t know WHY you’re doing this!” Harry bellowed, hurt slicing through him like a knife.  “But we both know there’s something definitely NOT normal about me, so why don’t you just admit it, and BUGGER OFF!” 

   “Fucking hell Harry,” he swore, and even Harry sucked in a shocked gasp at that.  That wasn’t a word they ever used.  “We live together, why are you making this so awkward?”

   “Just be honest, and admit what I did was unforgivable,” Harry gnashed through his teeth. 

   “I don’t _care_ about what happened in the bloody forest,” Draco shot back.  “I _care_ that you’ve been an utter _arse_ for weeks, months!  I’m sick and tired of treating you like a baby, so I thought if I gave you some space and saw Theo more, you’d snap out of it!”

   Harry seethed.  “Don’t,” he snarled.  “Don’t put this on me, have some respect, if only a little, _you owe me that.”_

   “What else am I supposed to do!” Draco yelled, and a few birds hopped from branch to branch in agitation above their heads.  “Someone has to talk some sense into you!”

   “Oh,” Harry said, his mocking tone clear.  “You want common sense, you want honesty?”  He gave Draco a savage smile.  “You’re a pretty rich boy that wouldn’t have lasted five minutes without me in this town.  I’m sorry I ever thought you were important at all.”

   “And you’re a self-involved,” Draco snarled.  “Jumped up, _half-blind idiot who will never be a pilot!”_

   Harry froze as if he had had a bucket of ice water poured all over him.  “What?” he uttered.

   Draco thrust a finger at him.  “Everyone has been too scared to tell you, but since you’re so devoted to _honesty_ right now, you should know what no one has been brave enough to tell you for _years.  You can’t be a pilot!”_

   “What are you talking about!” Harry bellowed at him, despite the fact he was only a foot or two away.  “What does that have to do with anything!”

   Draco suddenly took a step back, and inhaled several times.  “Your glasses,” he said in a much quieter voice.  “You have terrible eyesight.”

   “So?”  Harry challenged.  “So, so what?  I see perfectly with them on?”

   Draco looked smaller, like he’d drawn in on himself.  “And what if they fell off?”

   Harry opened and shut is mouth.  “I – they wouldn’t.  I tie them around my head if I have to.”  He’d had to do it for football before, it wasn’t a problem.  But Draco was now looking at him as if he was going to cry. 

   “Harry,” he said, taking a step towards him, but Harry took a step back.  Draco hugged himself.  “Harry.” He screwed his eyes closed.  “You have to take an eye test to join the air force.  They don’t let you in if you can’t pass that.”  He opened his eyes, and looked directly at him.  _“Without_ your glasses.”

   “No,” Harry said, feeling like the world was tilting. 

   Draco just stared at him.  “God,” he said.  “I didn’t want it to come to this.  Harry let me back in, let me talk to you.”

   “Me!” Harry shrieked, finding his anger again.  “It’s you, you hate me, and I don’t know how to change who I am!  I’m sorry, okay, Draco, _I’m sorry!”_   He gulped down air, trying to stay upright.  “I’m sorry I made a mistake, I’m sorry there’s something wrong with me!  But you don’t have to be _nasty!_   Just go to Theo, go be with other people like you.  You don’t have to make up _lies_ just to hurt me!”

   “I’m not lying,” said Draco flatly, and Harry flung his hands out in aggravation.

   “You’re expecting me to believe that _no one_ bothered to mention that the fact I wear glasses will stop me getting into the R.A.F.?  You’re just being cruel because I _disgust you!”_

   “I’m being _honest_ with you because you’re my _friend,”_ Draco said, rubbing his own arms as he continued to hug himself.  “I swear on my life I am telling the truth.  You can’t…you’ll never fly a plane.”

   Harry broke.  He felt it, like a physical sensation, as if his body shattered into a thousand pieces.  _It was all lies, it was vindictive spite!_   But a small part of him admitted that maybe, just maybe, Draco was talking sense.

   He let out a terrible cry and spun on his heels, stumbling away.  _He was defective and a weakling coward.  He was nothing like his father.  Draco hated him and he was NOTHING._

   He ran around to the front of his house, vaguely aware of Draco’s calls behind him.  But his hands were already on his red handlebars, his leg swinging over the frame of his bike.  He had to get away, he had to get _far_ away. 

   He shoved his feet into the dirt of the pathway, kicking up dust, and within a second he was flying through the air, the way you only could on a bicycle.  He didn’t note where he was going, he just pushed one foot over the other, the peddles and the chain flying around and around as the wheels spun into frantic motion. 

   _No no no no no!_ his thoughts screamed.  All he had ever wanted, for as long as he could remember, was to be a pilot, just like his father.  To fly planes and soar through the sky and save people and be _free!_   He screamed out loud to the trees and fields either side of him, ripping his glasses from his face and hurling them away.  But the motion unbalanced him; the front wheel jack-knifed and before he could registered what was happening he was hurtling over the handlebars and landing in a crumpled heap in a ditch just off the path. 

   Harry felt like he was hurt, that he was bleeding and had probably done even more serious damage, but just then his mind couldn’t process anything beyond the visceral pain in his heart.  He howled, like an animal, and curled in on himself. 

   He was nothing.  He’d lost Draco, he’d lost his dream, he was a hundred miles from home and the world was probably ending so he might as well just let it get on with it and leave now. 

   He cried.  He cried and cried and cried.  He cried for pushing Draco away, he cried for the miserable wretch of a human being he was.  He cried knowing he would never leave the Earth on a set of aluminium wings, because _of course_ Draco was right.  He had known it for so long, just lurking at the back of his mind where he refused to touch it, knowing somehow, deep down, it would shatter his dreams. 

   He was not good enough to be a hero.

   “Harry?”

   He jolted, but didn’t make any attempt to get himself out of the ditch.  Who knew where his bicycle or glasses had landed?  So he glanced up to see a tall, blond figure approach, but that’s all his tear-stained, crooked eyes could make out.

   “Go away,” he shouted thickly, his voice not even sounding like his own. 

   But Draco did not go away; of course he didn’t.  Bastard.  “Harry,” he said softly, his arms gently wrapping around Harry’s shoulders and pulling him into him.  Harry wanted to fight, to thrash and kick him away, but just like the pathetic sod he was, he folded instead, giving in to the familiar feeling of Draco’s body against his.

   “Let me be!” he whimpered.  “Why are you here?  Leave me alone!”

   Even he had to admit though, the way he clung to Draco’s sticky shirt protested otherwise. 

   “Harry,” came his voice, always so calm, and Harry buckled again as he began to tenderly thread his fingers through his coarse, black hair.  “Harry I’m so sorry.  That was…utterly contemptible of me.  I should never have said such a thing in temper.” 

   “But it’s true?” Harry demanded.  “It’s true, isn’t it?”

   He felt Draco sigh against his face plastered to his chest.  “Yes,” he said.  “It’s distressed me for years that no one would say anything to you, not even Mrs Figg.”  He cleared his throat and stroked Harry’s hair again.  “I fear they felt they were doing you a kindness, whereas my opinion has long been the opposite.”

   “Draco,” he keened, his body shuddering in grief.  “It can’t be, _it just can’t._   It’s all I ever wanted!”

   “I know,” Draco said, rocking them back and forth.  “I know Harry, I’m sorry.”

   Harry let himself be held a while, his thoughts whizzing at a thousand miles an hour.  “I don’t want to fight with you anymore,” he uttered after a time.  “I don’t even know if we’ve been fighting.  I just know it’s been abhorrent and I want it to stop.”

   “I’ve missed you,” Draco admitted, and they clung tighter together.  “I thought giving you space would help, I thought you wouldn’t want to be around me.  But I’m a coward and I couldn’t do it, I needed to be near you Harry, I’m so sorry, I tried to do what was best and I think I made things worse.” 

   Harry surprised himself by laughing.  “I think,” he rasped.  “Perhaps we both made it worse.”

   Draco laughed too.  It was a wet, remorseful sound.  “What a pair of pillocks,” he said, and Harry laughed again, half in grief, half at his own stupidity. 

   “Can you ever forgive me?” he whispered.

   Draco leaned back so they could look at one another.  “There’s nothing to forgive,” he said, silver eyes shining with his own unshed tears.  “Aside from perhaps some beastly things we said just now, but they can be forgotten, can’t they?”

   Harry nodded and buried his face against his neck again.  “I don’t care that you’re rich,” he said, his skin burning with shame.  “You’ve always been so generous to me, you and your family.  I…”  He hiccupped, but refused to let himself back out now.  “I only said it because I know it worries you.  I wanted to hurt you.  Because you’d been hurting me.”  He was crying again, but these were silent tears now, falling steadily down his cheeks, dripping from his chin and soaking into Draco’s shirt already damp with sweat.  “I’m ghastly.”

   “You’re human,” Draco said, and Harry felt maybe the tears had now teetered from his eyes too.  “I should have found a kind moment to tell you the truth about the R.A.F., not used it as a weapon.”

   Harry nodded.  “It’s okay,” he said.  “Well,” he laughed reproachfully.  “It’s not really, because I can’t be a pilot.”  And that cut him through again, saying it out loud.  But he sat up properly so Draco could see he wasn’t cross with him.  They were close enough that Harry could make out almost all his features, despite not wearing his glasses, and for the first time in as many months, he and Draco looked at one another with affection.  “All I care about is being friends again.”

   Draco smiled, his tear tracks already drying on his face in the summer heat, and took Harry’s hand.  “We never stopped being friends,” he said heavily.  “We just got a bit rubbish at it for a while.”  That made them both chuckle, and he rubbed the back of Harry’s knuckles with his thumb.  He sighed and bit his lip.  “Can I tell you truthfully what I’ve been thinking?”

   Harry nodded.  “You can tell me anything,” he said, and he meant it. He would rather struggle through some unpleasant revelations than carry on like they had been. 

   Draco took another breath.  “After what happened…”  He didn’t need to call it a kiss, it was awkward enough, so Harry just nodded in encouragement for him to continue.  “I was confused.  Boys, men, aren’t supposed to do that, it’s against the law.”

   Harry could feel himself going red again, and he looked down in shame.  It was an act of perversion, it was unnatural.  “I know,” he mumbled. 

   “But,” Draco carried on.  “It didn’t ‘disgust’ me, like you said.”

   Harry looked back up.  “Huh?” he said, too surprised to formulate anything more coherent. 

   Draco smiled, and tightened his grip on Harry’s hands.  “It didn’t, I promise,” he said.  “It surprised me, and you seemed so upset I just wanted to try and assure you it was okay, but as time went on that didn’t seem to be helping, so I thought I’d try a different approach and give you some space.” He shrugged his shoulders.  “That didn’t work either, so now I’m doing what I think we should have done in the first place, and just _talk_ about it.”

   Harry laughed and shifted so he was in a slightly more comfortable position.  He was covered in scrapes on his arms and legs, probably on his face too, all shining red with fresh blood.  But none looked so bad that he was actually going to need stitches or anything, which was a relief.  “I remember being confused with so many thoughts about the war, and how we wouldn’t be living together anymore, and I just wanted to be close to you.  I guess I did it in the wrong way.”

   Draco edged nearer, his smile broadening.  “But we’re still living together now,” he said.  “And we can be close in other ways still, ways that are okay.”

   “Like this?” Harry said, lifting up their entwined hands.

   “Yes!” Draco cried, giving them a squeeze.  “And like this.”  He let go with one hand to run his fingers through Harry’s hair again, making him giggle. 

   “That feels nice,” he admitted.

   Draco looked at him shyly.  “You can do it to me, if you want?”

   Harry bit his lip.  “Okay,” he said, smiling too.  His cheeks felt tight from the drying tears, but he was so happy he didn’t care.  He lifted his hand and let his fingers drift through Draco’s fine, blond hair. “Yours is so much softer than mine,” he marvelled.

   “I like how thick yours is,” Draco said, and Harry beamed.  “Harry,” he said, a little more seriously.  “I want you to know, really know, that there’s no one else like you, no one else I want to be close with like this.  It’s…it’s important to me that you know that.  Know that you’re special.”

   Harry could feel tears threatening at the corner of his eyes again, but this time they were happy ones.  He was such a hopeless case, and he chuckled a little at himself.  “You’re special too,” he admitted.  “There’s no one like you.  I’m so happy we got picked to live together.”

   “Me too,” Draco agreed. 

   They sat for a bit, hand in hand, and Harry felt the world slowly righting itself once more around him.  He would be quite happy to forget all about the last few months.

   “Come on,” Draco said after a time, getting to his feet and pulling Harry along with him.  “Let’s find your glasses.”

   “Oh bloody hell,” he groaned.  “What an idiot, I do hope they’re not damaged, that would be dreadful.”

   Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Draco to locate the missing spectacles, and aside from being dusty they were miraculously intact.  “There you go,” he laughed, handing them back, and the world became clear again as Harry put them back on his face.  He felt like he was seeing it afresh, with new eyes.  “Your first birthday present.”

   Harry sighed contentedly.  “Happy birthday to me,” he said.

   “Now,” Draco announced cheerfully, picking up his bicycle where it had dropped next to Harry’s.  Unlike his glasses, he could see that there were a few parts bent along the frame and front wheel that would need bending back into place, but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t do themselves.  “How about we head home and you can have the rest of your presents?”

   Harry blushed, again, and picked up his own battered bike.  “After my appalling behaviour,” he said.  “I doubt I deserve any presents.”

   “Nonsense,” Draco chided with a grandiose air.  “It’s your birthday sir, one can be as brattish as one likes on one’s birthday!”

   Harry laughed and gave him a shove. “Shut up,” he said, but privately he was extremely pleased Draco was making a joke about it all. 

   As they walked their bikes back to the cottage, Harry vowed to himself never to be so selfish again in his entire life, and if he and Draco ever had a misunderstanding again, he promised himself they would talk it through.  It was only alright to forgive himself if he learned from his mistakes. 

   “Did Mrs Figg make a birthday cake?” he asked tentatively as the half painted cottage came into view around the corner. 

   _“I_ made a cake,” Draco said proudly, as if it was his greatest ever accomplishment.

   Harry laughed, delighted.  “Does it have blackberries on it?” he asked.

   Draco turned to face him, and the warmth in his eyes made Harry feel very loved indeed. 

   “Of course,” he said simply. 

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a small amount of underage intimacy. It is perfectly consensual, but I felt it worth warning just in case anyone wanted to skip over those few paragraphs for personal reasons. 
> 
> There will be one more chapter after this, then an epilogue. I’m sorry this update took a few days, I’m hoping the next two will happen faster. Thank you to everyone who has been commenting enthusiastically so far, it’s been a privilege to read all your wonderful messages!
> 
> Juliet xxx

 

**May 2 nd 1945**

 

   After several weeks of unrelenting April showers, May had emerged clean and bright for Little Whinging; glorious sunshine taking the place of grey storm clouds, much to Harry’s delight.  After a couple of days respite from the rain, the puddles had started to dry up, just in time for the end of his and Draco’s exams, as luck would have it. 

   “Have you ever felt so free!” Draco cried as their bikes tore down the lane away from the school on the path that lead them out of the town.  He threw both his hands up in the air, balancing on his bicycle the way Harry had taught him last summer, and Harry mimicked the gesture.

   “The world is ours!” he bellowed, cycling with just his legs, splaying his fingers apart to feel the wind rush through them.

   Draco laughed and took hold of his handlebars again, dropping back slightly so he and Harry could ride side by side.  “How did you find the maths then?”

   “A damned sight easier than yesterday’s English,” Harry replied, pulling a face and holding the bike with his hands once more to steer around a pot hole.  “I have no head for Shakespeare.”

   Draco laughed in sympathy.  Draco, or course, had a head for everything, but he particularly loved the study of a good book or sonnet.  “I’m certain you did just fine,” he assured Harry, a gesture he appreciated, though might not have entirely believed.  “And in any case, it’s all in the hands of God now, we must simply sit and wait for our results next week.”

   Harry arched an eyebrow.  “I do not intend to spend a single moment sitting around, I have sat in enough lessons now surely to warrant a solid year’s worth of running around!”  He deftly leaned over and slapped Draco’s shoulder playfully as they made their way down another lane.  “Come on now, we should have an adventure!”

   “An adventure, is that right?” Draco asked slyly, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.  “Well it turns out I’ve been saving a rather splendid surprise for you, for a very special occasion – do you think this qualifies?”

   “Yes!” Harry cried.  “You tease!  What surprise, since when?”

   “Since last summer actually,” Draco said, then swerved his bike as Harry tried to wallop him.  “You brute!” he chortled.

   “You beast!” Harry countered.  “Keeping a perfectly good secret from me for almost a year.  It had better be an exceptional one!”

   “It is,” Draco assured him, still grinning, and checked his watch.  They had been let out of school early, and weren’t to be expected back home by Mrs Figg for another three or four hours.  “It’s a bit of a ride, are you up to it?”

   Harry scoffed.  “Do be quiet and lead the way.  And mind you be quick about it!”

   Draco flashed him a smile, and Harry felt like he was truly flying as he and Draco sped up along the lane. 

   After their dreadful falling out last year, Harry had made very sure never to let anything come between them again.  So when he asked Draco how he found this surprise, and he casually replied, “Theo and I found it,” he was extremely pleased with himself at how he kept his flare of jealousy to a minimum. 

   Theo and Draco were still friends, but they only tended to see each other once every month or two now.  And even if they did get together more, Harry was secure enough in his and Draco’s friendship again that he really didn’t mind.  He knew, no matter what, Draco would be there at the end of the day to swap stories and fall asleep by his side, and that was what was important. 

   It had been years since Harry had had a proper nightmare, until the stress of exams had gotten the better of him a few weeks ago.  He had expected Draco to get irritable with him, but instead he had taken Harry’s hand on several occasions to calm him down and sooth him back to sleep.  He wasn’t sure what he would have done without Draco to steer him through the past few weeks. 

   But now exams were over, the sun was shining and they had more or less a summer’s worth of freedom to look forward to.  Harry was planning on seeing if he could get an apprenticeship at one of the local garages, and Draco had already agreed with Mrs Pince down at the library that he could work there a few mornings a week.  That gave them plenty of time for football, bike riding, and even perhaps a few more projects around the cottage – Harry was sure there were a few roof tiles that could be a little more secure than they already were.

   All in all, the summer months were looked a great deal cheerier than the spring ones had been.  The most incredible lift to their moods though, he thought as they sped down a narrow, twisty path through the woods, were the rumours that had been growing for weeks, even months:

   War was coming to an end.  Peace was on the horizon.

   Before, with the surrender of Italy, Harry had been fearful to think what would happen to him and Draco once they no longer had to live in the countryside together.  But that had been almost two years ago, and now they were older and wiser, Harry trusted that he wouldn’t lose Draco over a mere matter of location.  Besides, he was beside himself with the idea of seeing his mother and father again after so many years apart, and knew that the end of the war would bring so much happiness to so many others who would be reunited too. 

   They had spent almost five years of their lives in Surrey under Mrs Figg’s care, where they had arrived as boys, and now Harry felt they were finally becoming men.  Not old enough to have served their country, but after his crushing disappointment at realising he would never be able to enlist in the RAF, Harry hadn’t wanted to serve in any other division in any case. 

   He was starting to feel his heart lay in engineering, and he was eager to investigate over the summer if that really was the case.  If he couldn’t fly planes, perhaps he would one day be able to build them?  That had seemed like a reasonable compromise to him once his anger and disillusionment had eased, so this summer he would try his luck on cars, to see if he had a knack for understanding the way machines worked. 

   Right now though, all he had to do was let the worry of his exam revision melt away under the bright blue sky, and follow Draco as they soared through the countryside, barely a car or another bicycle in sight.  “Where are we going?” he called jovially across to Draco up ahead.  Harry was an accomplished bike rider, and could go for miles, but with Draco’s long legs the other boy would always be the faster of the two. 

   He shot a mischievous look over his shoulder.  “You do understand the meaning of the word ‘surprise’, don’t you?”

   “Spoil sport!” Harry shot back, but he didn’t really mind.  He was just curious, having never taken this route before.  But he trusted wherever Draco was taking them would be okay.  He would never put Harry in any danger, or take them so far they couldn’t be back before supper. 

   Not long after, they peeled off the main path and delved into dense woodland, dark shadows giving them cool relief from the spring sunshine beating down over their heads.  There was still a good path to follow, which Draco kept them on for several more minutes, until he slowed, and turned them down a trail that look far less used than the others they had been on for the last half hour.

   “It might be easiest to walk the last bit,” Draco said, squeezing his breaks and hopping off.  Harry followed suit, wincing slightly at his sore muscles aching from where they hadn’t been used properly during the past several weeks. 

   “How on Earth did you find this place?” Harry asked as he followed his friend down the winding pathway, walking their bikes by their sides. 

   Draco wiped his damp forehead with his hand.  “It’s on the edge of Theo’s family’s land,” he explained.  “He brought me here once, but he didn’t seem to think it was all that special.”  He turned and winked at Harry.  “I knew you would see its brilliance though.” 

   Harry tried not to beam too obviously with pride.  He loved to think Draco knew him well enough like that, and if it was something Draco thought was rather good and that he would like too, when Theo didn’t, that was even better. 

   “Are we trespassing though?” he couldn’t help but ask.

   Draco shook his head.  “Theo’s parents said I can come and play around here whenever, and you’re with me, so that’s fine.”  They pushed through some thick shrubbery, and Harry had to make sure the spokes of his bike didn’t get tangled with any branches.  “Besides, their land stretches so far the chances of anyone finding us here are extremely remote.”

   Harry supposed that was a good enough answer.  “Alright then,” he said confidently, with a nod. 

   Draco lead them on for another five minutes, until they rounded the corner and found themselves confronted with a most delightful sight. 

   It was a small lake, or a large pond, depending on how you looked at it.  It was a sort of kidney bean shape, surrounded by trees, and with a small rowboat tethered to a short dock on the side closest to them.  On the opposite bank, beyond the few trees by the water’s edge, was an open field, its grass lush and green from all the recent rainfall.  The lake itself looked full and fresh too, and the small, shallow streams to the left and right that permitted continuous flow were running hurriedly.  Harry guessed it was several feet wide, from the dock to the field, and then there was probably thirty or more feet between the streams feeding into and out of the lake. 

   “Draco,” he breathed in awe.  “It’s…it’s simply marvellous, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

   He turned to see Draco appraising his reaction most favourably.  “I knew you’d like it,” he said happily.  “Isn’t it a brilliant little secret?”

   “Shall we take the boat out then?” Harry said eagerly by way of a response.  But Draco looked affronted, and Harry might have thought he’d really wounded him if it hadn’t been for the crinkle of mirth around his eyes.

   “On a day like this?” he scoffed.  “After weeks of being cooped up in a classroom looking at the rain, after a sticky bike ride like that?  Are you mad, man!”

   And then he did something that almost made Harry’s heart stop.  He lowered his bicycle to the ground, dropped his school bag, and began tugging at his shirt.  “What are you doing?” Harry asked uncertainly.

   Draco though wasn’t perturbed, and just grinned as button after button yielded to his long, nimble fingers, gradually exposing his chest.  “Going swimming of course,” he cried. 

   It wasn’t as if Harry hadn’t seen more of his best friend than was strictly polite over the years – they did share a bathroom after all.  But there was something about what was happening, out in the middle of nowhere, that made his skin tingle in an anticipation that he wasn’t entirely sure was from wonder or fear. 

   “Come on!” Draco crowed, and Harry seemed powerless to disobey.

   He was still, to a small extent, haunted by his actions two years ago when he had almost ruined their friendship beyond repair and kissed Draco on the lips, lost in a moment of lunacy.  It had taken several months for them to recover from his reckless actions, however Draco had not only forgiven him, but promised faithfully that Harry had not disgusted him.  They had fallen back into a pattern of careful familiarity entailing a strict list of what kind of touches were acceptable, and when and where they were allowed to be close; this felt like they were crossing a line Harry hadn’t even known had existed.

   But Draco was so happy.  _He just wants to go swimming,_ Harry chided himself, trying to relax.  They would horse around for a little while to let off steam, then head home.  Nothing inappropriate had to happen.

   So he worked his shirt off with more enthusiasm, wanting Draco to know he was excited about the amazing surprise he had orchestrated.  “Is the water deep?” he asked.

   Draco shrugged, slipping his belt off.  “Theo never wanted to swim,” he said.  “And I felt like a pillock doing it by myself, so we’ll have to find out!”

   He undid his trousers _(like he did every day before going to bed,_ Harry reminded himself fiercely) and pushed them to the ground, leaving him only in his white skivvies.  Harry was wearing the same, as Mrs Figg bought them the same brand of boxer shorts, but Draco’s skin was so pale there was hardly a difference between that and the colour of the underwear.  For a second he couldn’t tear his eyes away from his lean chest, no longer skinny like a boy’s but toned like a man’s, until he realised that was _definitely_ crossing a line, and hastily looked down to take off his own shoes and trousers.

   His heart was thumping so loudly against his chest he feared Draco must have undoubtedly heard it.  But his friend was too preoccupied rushing over to the little dock to sit and swing his legs over the side.  “Brr!” he cried dramatically as his feet splashed into the water.  “It’s a bit chilly!”

   Harry kicked off the rest of his clothes, leaving them both only in boxers.  He took a deep breath and reminded himself this would be what they would wear if they were at the beach, it was no different, and darted over to sit by Draco’s side.  “It can’t be that cold,” he said with false bravado, then inhaled sharply as his feet and calves dropped into the waters with a splash.  “Bloody hell!” he yelped, and Draco laughed loudly at him. 

  “Such a baby,” he said with a grin.

   “Am not!”

   “Are too!”

   Harry resorted to his usual trick when Draco was getting too mouthy, and tickled him instead.  Draco jerked and tried to twist away, and before they knew what was happening they were tumbling into the little lake with a shout.

   “ARGH!” Harry yelled, thrashing his way back up to the surface, hands grabbing at his face where his glasses were only just hanging on by the crook of one arm.  The cold was shocking, but his fright at almost losing his glasses was stronger.  “Hang on, hang on,” he gasped.  The bottom of the lake wasn’t that deep, and he was able to place his feet on the mud whilst he carefully removed them altogether from his face.  The world became a great deal blurrier, and he fumbled to move back to the edge of the dock to place them up somewhere safe.

   “Here,” he heard Draco say, and then he was turning with one of Draco’s hands on his shoulder, the other gently taking his glasses away.  Harry blinked, and was able to make out him placing them on the wooden boards to dry off and stay safe.

   “Thanks,” he said bashfully. 

   Draco bobbed back in front him and took his hands, gliding them both into the middle of the pond.  “Can you swim by yourself?” he asked.

   Harry had been taken to the lido in Hyde Park several times as a boy, and once to the seaside before the war had broken out, so he felt he could traverse these calm waters easily enough.  He nodded and let Draco’s hands go.  “Yes,” he said, managing to treat water. 

   Draco was hopping up and down, his head almost disappearing between each move.  “The bottom is only a foot or so down anyway,” he said, and Harry ducked down to touch the cold mud with his feet, and realised this was indeed true. 

   He broke the surface of the water again, and Draco splashed him devilishly.  “Race you to the other end!” he cried.

   They spent the next half an hour or so by Harry’s estimation racing up and down the length of the lake, more concerned with who could dunk the other the most rather than who was actually the fastest, whooping and laughing and splashing and cheering.  The water seemed warm in no time, and Harry had gotten used to the shape of the lake’s base and edges without his glasses to clearly see, becoming bolder.  Bold enough to tackle Draco under the water and drag him down for a second or two, before realising him to splutter back about the surface. 

   “Got you!” he crowed triumphantly. 

   “Dirty cheat,” Draco shot back, but he was grinning too widely to actually be angry.  They calmed after that, lying on the backs and looking up at the blue sky between the tree branches. 

   Harry felt rejuvenated in a way he’d not really known before, with the water sluicing through his hair and his body bobbing along in the gentle current.  “Do you think Theo will let us come back here?” he asked wistfully.

   “We don’t have to leave yet,” Draco chuckled as he drifted past.

   “I know,” Harry said.  “I suppose, I’d like to know we can come back some day, if we want?”

   Draco flicked some water to catch his attention, but his face was warm with kindness when Harry turned his head.  “We can come back whenever you want,” he said.  “We can spend all summer swimming if you like.  And if it’s too cold, we can sit on the boat.”

   They were drifting on their backs, bellies and toes bare to the sun glinting through the canopy, and Harry smiled back at his best friend as their fingers cautiously intertwined.  “I’d like that,” he said. 

   The sound of a dog barking snapped them violently from their reverie, and they both jerked upright again, heads snapping around for the source of the disturbance.

   “Quick,” Draco giggled, grabbing Harry’s hand again and leading him over to the bank by the field.  Harry was going to ask what he was up to, to protest they weren’t doing anything wrong (he was _sure_ they weren’t) so it didn’t matter if they were seen by a dog walker, when he realised that Draco was pulling him through the long, trailing branches of a weeping willow.

   Even with his diminished eyesight, Harry could see the branches provided them with a curtain so if anyone did look over to the lake, they wouldn’t see anyone trespassing, in their skivvies.  Draco giggled again, which set Harry off, but then Draco gave him a hypocritical whispered “Shh!”

   Harry nodded, and they clung together, willing the passerby to move along, and not spot their discarded bicycles and clothes, and wonder where their owners were.

   Draco kept Harry steady, standing on the lake’s bottom with a firm hold on Harry’s shoulders.  He was so close Harry could see his eyelashes almost perfectly, despite abandoning his glasses on the dock.  He groaned quietly, and prayed the dog wouldn’t get to curious and come sniffing around their clothes, because he really didn’t want anyone stealing his glasses, let alone a dog potentially eating them.

   _“What?”_ Draco mouthed.

   Harry made circles with his index fingers and thumbs, and held them in front of his eyes.   Draco bit his lip as a fresh wave of giggles encompassed him, so Harry poked his chest.  _“Not funny!”_ he mouthed, but Draco grabbed his finger to stop its prodding, and nodded that he thought it was very funny indeed.

   They froze as they heard a woman’s voice calling the dog (named ‘Biscuit’ apparently), but thankfully it seemed they were in the field and away from the boys’ belongings.  Harry just hoped that Biscuit didn’t fancy a swim as well.

   He and Draco were smiling at each other as the dog and its owner trundled on, away from their secret hiding place, apparently completely unaware.  Harry felt his heart should have slowed down as the danger passed, but the thing was Draco was still holding him, and they were awfully close together. 

   He felt his heart speeding up again for an entirely different reason. 

   He expected Draco to let him go, to swim away so they could continue with their games, but instead he let his hands drop under the water.  Now he was holding Harry by his waist, and Harry’s hands were resting gently at the top of Draco’s chest, by his collarbones.  They bobbed in the water, and Harry realised they were only a few inches apart.

   He wanted to say something, to laugh and break the tension, but Draco was looking at him like his face held the answers to the universe.  Involuntarily, Harry’s thumb swept over Draco’s clavicle, feeling the hollow there and then his hand moved slightly  upwards to hold the side of Draco’s neck.

   Draco’s thumbs were rubbing against Harry’s ticklish sides, but he didn’t flinch away.  Instead, he felt himself be pulled a little closer, and the hands slipped across the small of his back.

   _What are we doing?_ he panicked.  _This isn’t right, we shouldn’t be touching like this!_  

   But how was this different to when they held hands, or embraced in the night?  How was it any worse than Draco’s new found love of running his fingers through Harry’s hair, a habit that Harry felt equally as strongly about when it came to stroking Draco’s own baby-soft locks.  How was that touching okay, and this wrong?

   It didn’t feel wrong, it felt electric as slowly, very slowly, the boys let their hands drift carefully over the other’s body that they had become so accustomed to through pyjamas over the past five years.

   But Harry knew, he knew how badly their friendship had suffered the last time he had become confused and crossed a line.  “Draco?” he murmured, his eyes half closed and unable to focus on anything but his pale pink lips.  He remembered how it had felt to touch their mouths together, to feel like the whole world had been exquisitely banished, if only for a moment, to find peace and tranquillity like nothing else in his life. 

   “Harry,” Draco whispered back.  “Shh.”

   It felt as inevitable as the dawn as Draco leaned in, and carefully pressed his lips against Harry’s. 

   There was a moment of panic, a realisation of what was happening that was quicker than before, but Harry did not give in to it.  Draco had kissed _him,_ and he was suddenly convinced it was the most glorious thing that had ever happened in the entire history of the British Empire. 

   He surged forwards, pressing their chests together and running his hands up into Draco’s wet hair, moving his mouth to deepen the kiss instinctively.  Draco’s arms tightened around his back, their bodies slick together, and he stepped them backwards so Draco’s back was lying on the gentle muddy incline of the bank. 

   That meant Harry was now flat on top of him, and he could feel _every inch_ of him, most importantly, the arousal between his legs.

   Harry made a choking sound, unable to believe this was really happening. 

   “What are we doing?” he rasped, but Draco’s hands were in his sopping hair, tugging him back into their kiss. 

   “Don’t,” he uttered, urgently.  “Don’t stop.”

   Harry lost all connection to any logic in his brain as his mouth gave up on talking and dedicated itself to exploring Draco’s with fervour.  As their lips moved, tongues slipped through and met, and Harry couldn’t help but moan as he hugged Draco tighter to him. 

   Over the past several months he had become aware of many changes in his body; his voice had dropped, hair had crept over his chest, and strange dreams had meant he’d woken many a morning with a stiffness between his legs that he’d tried his best to hide from Draco until the urges had subsided.  But now the stiffness was almost unbearable, made all the more heightened by the fact it was pressed directly against Draco’s own erection, heat emanating from them both through the cool waters and the material of their underwear.  Harry gave an experimental roll of his hips, rubbing the hard shafts together.

   Both boys cried out in a manner that made him extremely glad the dog walker was long gone.  Harry wasn’t sure what they were doing, but he knew if felt incredible. 

   Draco’s hips gave a responding roll, and Harry jerked in gratification.  _“Draco,”_ he whined, his fingers tightening in his hair.  He was snatching breaths between kisses, his lips throbbing intensely, his skin feeling like it was on fire.  Their shoulders were mostly out in the air, but the angle Draco was lying against the bank meant most of them was still submerged, and the water’s coolness was a relief as it lapped and splashed around their bodies. 

   They fumbled until they found a sort of rhythm, undulating together as their groins rubbed back and forth, and soon kissing became impossible as they gasped for air, their breaths ragged.  _“Don’t stop,”_ Draco stuttered.  _“Don’t stop, don’t stop.”_

   Harry had no intention of stopping, pressure building inside him like he was going to combust or something.  He gnashed his teeth, and suddenly Draco was shaking beneath him, his face screwed up in a way Harry had never seen before.  He groaned, digging his fingers into Harry’s skin, and with a final thrust Harry felt himself explode in a dazzling array of stars in front of his eyes, his whole body shuddering as he seized Draco to him, holding him so tightly it was as if he was afraid to ever let him go. 

   They panted together for a while as Harry felt his wits slowly come back to him.  Alongside his wits gradually crept the dawning realisation of what had just transpired, and then his fears began to form.  “Are you alright?” he mumbled into Draco’s neck where his face was pressed thanks to their possessive embrace.

   At his words though, Draco loosened his grip and did his best to lean back.  He was lying against the bank however, so Harry moved apart too, meaning they could look at one another. 

   “I’m great,” Draco breathed, his eyes searching Harry’s as he brushed his hair back.  “Are you though?”

   Harry bit his lip.  “I, um,” he said evasively.  “I liked that.”

   Draco’s face lit up with a gentle smile, and Harry felt his trembling body sag a little in relief.  “Me too,” he agreed.  “But, are you _alright?”_

   Unsure how to answer properly, Harry pulled Draco back into a hug.  “I think so,” he said, but the truth was his mind was reeling with so many conflicting thoughts.

   Draco stroked his hair tenderly.  “Tell me what’s on your mind?” he asked.

   Harry squeezed his eyes shut, unsure why tears were now threatening to fall.  At least they were already wet, so he hoped they wouldn’t necessarily be obvious.  “We’re not…” he started, trying to find the right words.  “We shouldn’t…I mean, that seems like something maybe, um, boys don’t do together?”

   He risked moving a fraction so he could see Draco’s face again, and it was filled with nothing but compassion.  “Why not?” he enquired gently, still stroking the back of Harry’s head.

   “Isn’t it, I mean the kissing and everything…” He cleared his throat, feeling heat rise into his cheeks.  “Isn’t it homosexual?”

   Draco bit his lip.  “I guess so,” he agreed. 

   “And that’s illegal,” Harry carried on.  “It’s perverted and wrong.”

   His voice caught on the last word, and he tried his best to hold back the tears, but he had a feeling he was losing.  “Did it feel wrong?” Draco asked, and he was almost relieved to hear his voice quivering. 

   Harry quickly shook his head, because he wasn’t going to lie, not to Draco, not about this.  “It was quite possibly one of the best moments of my life,” he blurted out in a rush, and he was immensely relieved to see Draco’s face blossom into a look of pure delight.

   “Mine too,” he said, reaching up, and placing a chaste kiss on Harry’s lips.  “So I argue it wasn’t wrong, laws be damned.”

   Harry studied him for a moment.  “That’s not what you said before?” he challenged, referencing their brief kiss by the blackberry bush two years ago even though he didn’t really want to.  Draco didn’t stop stroking his hair though.

   “I had a lot of time to think about that,” he said, his silver eyes wide and earnest.  “I knew what I’d been told, but I also knew how I felt.  It was nice, Harry,” he said, sorrow creeping onto his features.  “But I was scared, and you were angry, and I didn’t know what to think.”

   “Me neither,” Harry admitted.  The water around them had been well churned by their activities, and there were muddy streaks of water running through Draco’s blond hair as Harry mimicked his actions and ran his wet hand through it.  He stirred his courage, unwilling to be dishonest with Draco, even if it meant risking changing their friendship forever.  “But I think I know what I want now,” he said with as much sincerity as he could muster.

   “And what’s that?” Draco whispered.

   “You,” Harry whispered back, forcing the words from his throat.  “Like this…this close, togetherness.  The way our bodies exploded like Chinese fireworks, I want that.  You make me so happy Draco, when we talk and do things together.  I want to share everything with you.”

   Draco smiled, and Harry was mildly alarmed to see a pearly tear slip down the side of his face.  “For someone who claims to be bad with words,” Draco chuckled, another tear escaping.  “That was pretty good.”

   Harry smiled, and leaned down to place a sweet, simple kiss on his lips.  “You make me better,” he confessed.  “At everything.”

   “You make me better too,” Draco replied.

   They kissed slowly and leisurely for some time, protected by the shelter of the willow tree, but eventually they could no longer ignore the coldness of the water seeping into their bones. 

   “Perhaps we should lie in the sunshine for a bit?” Harry suggested with a chuckle, and Draco nodded, a shy smile on his plump, reddened lips.  Harry would have to learn to be a little gentler with him he reasoned as they swam back into the middle of the lake and washed away the mud that had clung to them.

   The sun had shifted and the afternoon air was gloriously warm for early May.  The two young men shook themselves off like dogs, still giddy from their revelation and the endorphins rushing around in their blood from the kissing (and everything else).  Harry blushed to think what they had done, but he refused to be ashamed.  He and Draco had wanted to do it, and it had felt amazing.  A part of him was already wondering when they could do it again…

   For now though, they flopped on their backs, the grass helping to dry them as they looked up at the clouds drifting through the sky, and talked about the future.

   “Do you think the war is really ending?” Harry asked as he slipped his glasses back on and the world came back into focus.  He was cautious of being optimistic after he’d raised his hopes two years ago, but he couldn’t help but trust peace was really coming.

   “I hope so,” Draco murmured.

   Harry didn’t ask this time what he and Draco would do, what would happen if (or when) they moved back to London.  He just knew it would be alright, however things turned out.

   After some time he checked his father’s watch from where he had dropped it by his clothes, and sighed.  “We should probably be heading off soon,” he said, slipping his hand into Draco’s.  He didn’t really want this magical afternoon to end, but he didn’t want Mrs Figg worrying about them either.

   They got dressed feeling only slightly damp still and hefted their bicycles up to walk them back down the path.  “Promise we’ll come back soon?” Harry asked.

   “Promise,” Draco replied.

   The ride back seemed even more wonderful than before, and Harry found himself noticing the evening birdsong, the beautiful colours in the trees and in the sky.  Even the old dirt tracks seemed whimsical to him as they sped along. 

   He allowed himself to dare hope, that the war was coming to an end and he and Draco could move onto the next stage in their lives, together.  His head was filled with images of them perhaps going to the same university – if he got in of course, Draco was sure to but Harry wasn’t so certain.  But for now, he imagined them on the same campus, perhaps sharing halls together, then both getting the jobs they wanted.  It all so seemed so possible.

   He was so lost in his daydream, it took him a moment to realise as they turned the last corner into their lane, that Mrs Figg was sitting on the front step.  The way her head snapped up made Harry guiltily think she’d been waiting for them, but then he became aware of her hands, and he knew in an instant she had not been fretting about dinnertime. 

   Between two gnarled fingers, resting absently next to where her walking cane was perched, was a cigarette.  It was burned halfway down, but then several other stubs were extinguished in a small clay tray next to the cane.  Mrs Figg never, ever smoked.  Harry had only seen her sneak on or two when she’d been drunk at Christmas over the years.  For her to have got through almost a whole pack of ten made his insides drop immediately. 

   But as he and Draco swung their bikes in and opened the gate, Harry also spotted what was in her other hand, and he felt like his heart stopped altogether. 

   It was a telegram.

   Or at least, he thought it must be, because the post had arrived at the regular hour this morning.  Telegrams cost money by the word, and were only sent in emergencies. 

   _Please don’t be for me!_ he prayed silently, but then he realised that would mean it was for Draco, and he didn’t want that either.  They dismounted from their bicycles, and ran them down the path.

   “Mrs Figg?” he cried as she kept her eyes on them and stood shakily to her feet.  “What’s wrong, what’s happened?”

   She had stubbed out her cigarette even though it was only half smoked, and was trembling with the effort of keeping herself held up with just one hand on the cane, the other still occupied with clutching the scrap of paper to her chest, her eyes wide with tears. 

   Harry dropped his bike unceremoniously on the lawn as Draco did the same, an imploring look on his face that Harry was sure matched his own as they stopped in front of her.   “What?” he rasped again.  “Please tell us?”

   Mrs Figg’s chest gave a shudder, and she thrust the letter out.

   At Harry.

   “I’m so sorry love,” she whispered.

   Harry tore the message open, his blood pulsing so loudly in his ears he felt like it was roaring.  He skimmed the few, neatly typed words, and stumbled as his vision blacked briefly out. He howled, a sound he didn’t even recognise from himself, and pitched forwards.  His hands grasped at the door frame, tumbling through the open door and into the cool, shadowy inside of the cottage.  His legs seemed to work automatically as they fumbled up the stairs to the attic, sobs racking through his chest as he tried to catch a breath. 

   He couldn’t see for tears though, and he tripped on the last step, sprawling on hands and knees into his and Draco’s bedroom.  The shock jolted something awake in him, and he screamed, a keening noise that ripped through his nerves.

   He felt hands on his shoulders, felt himself being helped up and steered towards the bed where he could collapse.  He then felt the crumpled telegram being eased from his fist, and the mattress shifting as Draco laid down beside him, dragging him into a fierce protective hug.

   There was nothing he could do now though to save him, it had already been done.  Ten words that had changed his life forever.  Ten words that Draco read, then started crying too, rocking Harry back and forth, the telegram angrily balled up and clutched between them. 

   Ten words.  How could ten words destroy so much?

   “I’m so sorry Harry,” Draco stuttered.

   Harry couldn’t form anything to say in return, so he just clung to Draco tighter, feeling like he was the only thing still anchoring him to the world, preventing him from being swallowed whole into oblivion.

   Ten words. 

_Mother’s factory bombed.  No trace of her.  I’m sorry.  Petunia._

 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delayed upload. Life…manly Brexit…happened (sobs into my sleeve). Anyway, it’s fine, these boys literally kept me going when the world was going to shit. I hope you enjoy, you’ve all been utterly remarkable readers so far, I’m so chuffed you’ve followed this story and I’ve loved responding to all your reviews – keep them coming!

**May 8 th 1945**

 

   Harry looked out over the throng of people celebrating before him, and tried his very best to muster up a spark of happiness.  He didn’t want to ruin the party, not when there was so much to be merry for, so he blinked his eyes several times and tweaked his mouth into the most convincing smile he could.

   Neville Longbottom and his slightly ferocious grandmother waved at him, and Dean and his best friend Seamus raised their glasses of squash in a toast.  But no one came near him.

   Only Draco, who refused to leave his side.

   “You should…go…” Harry said vaguely, waving his hand out towards the long line of tables standing in the middle of Little Whinging’s main street, groaning under the weight of all the most impressive food and drink the town could muster together at the announcement of Victory in Europe.  A rag-tag group of musicians were playing all the best hits from the wireless they could cobble together, and several dozen people were dancing wildly in couples at the far end of the tables. 

   Draco shrugged, a little maddeningly, and popped another bite of sausage roll into his mouth.  “I’m fine,” he said.

   Harry swallowed around the painful lump in his throat and gritted his teeth.  “You should be celebrating,” he said determinedly. 

   Draco sighed.  “What would you like me to do?” he said kindly, his grey eyes fixing on Harry’s.  “Pretend everything is okay, that you’re perfectly fine?  Wander off for some ginger beer and cupcakes?”

   He reached under the table where they were sitting, and gave Harry’s hand a fast, firm squeeze. 

   “I don’t want to make you miserable?” Harry protested weakly, immensely grateful in truth for Draco’s steadfast support.  It had only been a week, and he could still not yet get his head fully around the utterly abysmal concept that his mother was dead.  That he was never, ever going to see her again.

   Just the thought of it made his eyes well up, and he fiercely tried to blink back any tears before they could fall.  He didn’t want anyone else to know, because he absolutely couldn’t bear to talk about it if they asked, and Draco took his hand again, a little bolder this time, for a little longer. 

   “I am only sad because you’re sad,” he rasped.  “What kind of beast would I be if I left you and amused myself?”  He raised his eyebrows and Harry was forced to give him a small, weak smile which he hoped conveyed his deep thankfulness.  “I am perfectly happy by your side, offering whatever small, pitiful comfort I can.  Do you understand?”

   Harry risked reaching over and squeezing just above Draco’s knee.  It was lightning fast, but it seemed important to Harry to chance such a bold move.  “I understand,” he whispered, mindful of everyone around them.  “And I think it’s wonderful.  _You’re_ wonderful.” 

   The afternoon was bright and breezy as people laughed and chatted and danced and hugged one another.  Harry watched on, envious.  He couldn’t help it.

   _Mum would have loved this,_ he thought, unable to stop himself.  His mother had always been a ray of sunshine, the perky voice telling him all would be well.  _“Chin up little chap!”_ she used to tell him, and tap his chin to really make him do it. 

   He had been warned he might not see her whilst the war was still going on, but seeing Draco’s mum on almost half a dozen occasions had made him hopeful.  To have the prospect of peace, of returning to London dangled in front of his hungry eyes, only to have it snatched cruelly away was little more than he could bear.  It wasn’t fair.  _It wasn’t fair!_

   He took a deep breath and forced himself to think of all the other loved ones that would be reunited.  Mothers and fathers and sons and daughters and everyone in between.  Of Draco, who would surely be reunited with his father soon, as well as his lovely mother.  He had to be happy for them, he couldn’t let this darkness eat him alive.

   “Boys, boys,” Mrs Figg groused, ambling over with her cane in one hand and a plate in the other.  “They were almost all gone – Draco, I would have expected you to at least have safeguarded some for us!” 

    She sat in the seat next to Harry and plonked down the plate between the three of them, where three blackberry tartlets rattled before settling in front of them.

   “Oh,” said Harry, his heart warming at their special treat.  Of course, there weren’t fresh blackberries as they were out of season, but Mrs Figg had improvised with some saved up jam, and they looked just as delicious as always. 

   He hadn’t managed to eat much at all in the past week.  Every time food had been placed in front of him, he thought about how his mother would never eat that again.  It was melancholy and selfish and he simply _had_ to snap out of it. 

   So he forced another little smile for Mrs Figg, then reached forward to take the biggest of the three tarts. 

   Draco immediately took one for himself, and held it patiently whilst Mrs Figg lifted one herself.  She seemed so much frailer than when they had first come to Surrey, but her spirit was undefeatable.  “Today’s a celebration boys,” she croaked, wrinkled forehead becoming even more lined as she raised her eyebrows in affirmation.  “It hasn’t been the best of times, and right now, Harry, it’s probably the worst of times.”

   Harry bit his tongue to stop him dissolving into tears like a baby.  He must be strong, he had always promised himself he would be strong, ever since he had first left London. 

   “But right now, here,” Mrs Figg continued, waving her tart at what felt like the whole town gathered around them.  “This is good.  This is what it felt like last time, when we knew, _we knew,_ that the worst of the horrors were over.”

   She watched the two of them, so they both nodded obediently. 

   “Things will be better now,” Harry said hollowly, repeating what he’d been telling himself all day, purely because that’s what other people had been telling him all day too. 

   Mrs Figg took his hand with the one that wasn’t holding one of her homemade pastries.  “They will,” she said, shaking it for emphasis.  “They will Harry lad.”

   He nodded, and for want of a distraction, sunk his teeth into the tart.  The sugar made him dizzy, but he chewed and swallowed with gusto.  “Thank you,” he said.  “For everything.” 

   He didn’t know how to say thank you for five years of care.  It wasn’t just a roof over their heads, or food on their plates, clothes on their backs.  It was the kind of love and understanding that would make any mother proud.  It was the fact that only now, when faced with the prospect of going ‘home’, he realised he was already there. 

   Mrs Figg seemed to know what he was thinking though, and gave his shoulders a quick squeeze of solidarity.  “Isn’t anything to be thanking me for,” she said matter-of-factly.  “But I appreciate the thought.”

   They ate their tarts in contemplative silence.  Harry felt a little ill from his one, not having eaten properly in the past several days, but to his mind finishing it became the best way he could show his true gratitude towards his guardian, so he made sure to devour every last bite. 

   “So, what’s the plan?” Mrs Figg asked after a time.  They had been watching some impromptu Morris dancing going on, and it took Harry a moment to realise she’d spoken. 

   “The plan?” he repeated. 

   “For going back to London,” she elaborated.  Harry felt a sinking sensation in his belly, but Draco spoke before he could articulate any of his dread. 

   “Mother wrote to me,” he said, brushing crumbs from his hands.  “She wants me to head back as soon as I’m ready.”

   “I didn’t know that,” Harry said, feeling a little hurt, but Draco’s eyes softened.

   “It didn’t seem right to bring it up unannounced,” he said. 

   Harry nodded, but his awkwardness just increased.  “I, um,” he said, tripping over his words.  “I’ve not heard from my father.”  _I don’t even know if he’s still alive,_ he added to himself.  “And my aunt hasn’t written anything since…”  He cleared his throat, unwilling to mention the telegram.  “So I don’t know…I mean…”  He wanted to ask if he could just stay, if he could try and ignore the whole blasted business, but he knew in his heart he had imposed on Mrs Figg long enough.  “I’m not sure what there is for me to go back to,” he finished honestly though.  He didn’t even know if his house was still standing. 

   Draco looked confused, which Harry found rather puzzling.  He was cleverer than Harry, he was always two steps ahead, surely he must have guessed this would be his predicament?  “But,” he said, blinking a couple of times.  “You’ll come home with me to start with, until we can work out the logistics?”

   It was Harry’s turn to blink against the warm spring sunlight.  “I will?” he asked, bewildered.

   “Of course,” Draco spluttered.  “Did you honestly think I was going to trot off and leave you behind?”

   Harry didn’t know what to say, his throat felt too tight, so he just managed a twitch of a smile and a jerk of his head.  But then he remembered Mrs Figg next to him, and felt guilty.  “We don’t have to go right away,” he blurted out.

   She sighed and shook her head.  “Boys,” she said fondly.  “This isn’t about me, this is about you going back to your homes, carrying on with your lives.  Don’t you be worrying about hurting the feelings of an old bird like me.”

   That got a soft chuckle from Draco and even a small smile from Harry.  “I don’t want to seem ungrateful though?” he said tentatively.  As much as he wanted to stay, his heart also ached to go back to London and to get answers to the many desperate questions he had.  _What exactly had happened to his mother?  Had there been a funeral yet, was she buried somewhere he could visit?_   He cringed inwardly at that thought, because truthfully he didn’t know if there had been any of her body recovered _to_ bury. 

   _And what of his father?  Had he returned?  Was he alive?_   Even if he faced more bad news, he knew he had to find the answers. 

   “Me neither,” Draco said, but Mrs Figg shook her head again. 

   “It’s right,” she insisted.  “It’s time.  Let’s try and enjoy ourselves a bit today, then tomorrow we can start getting you packed.”

 

xxx

 

   It took several days to slowly organise the boys’ return to London.  Mrs Malfoy very kindly posted the money they needed to book their train tickets, and Mrs Longbottom leant them a special carry case so they could wrangle up Treacle and Shelley to make the trip back with them. 

   Mrs Figg insisted they take all their possessions that they had accumulated over the years, even though Harry felt deeply uncomfortable doing so knowing how many of them she had bought herself, but she would hear nothing of leaving them behind.  That resulted in a number of trunks and suitcases being donated by a number of different families, and Mr Lockhart made a great show of lending them his car to get them from the cottage to the station.  Even though Harry suspected he wanted to show off the fact he _owned_ a car more than actually help, he couldn’t help but be appreciative anyway.  It was a bit of a squeeze, but they manages to get all the bags into the boot, and the two bicycles tied securely onto the roof. 

   Draco assured him that his mother would meet them at Victoria station with the family driver, so the last leg of their journey would not be made difficult by so much luggage, and Harry began to feel rather intimidated about staying at Malfoy Manor.  The fact it was even _called_ ‘Malfoy Manor’ was daunting enough as it was, but the fact that Draco’s family owned a car and employed someone _specifically_ to drive it was quite overwhelming. 

   Harry didn’t have all that long to dwell on his many worries though before it was the last night, and they were trying to sleep in their bed for the final time.  Try as he might, he couldn’t stop the tears from falling, thinking about how the life he had grown so used to was ending, and he how he was willingly heading into the unknown.  Draco held him tight though and kissed the top of his head softly, whispering promises of how it was all going to be okay. 

   Harry wasn’t sure he believed him, but he took comfort in the words anyway. 

   The next day, it felt like half the school gathered at Little Whinging station to wave the two boys back to London, along with several other children who weren’t half as little as they had been when they had arrived so many years ago.  Harry looked at Draco as they hung out of the window to give last minute hugs goodbye – at his tall frame getting stronger every year – and realised they weren’t even really _children_ anymore.  They were almost men. 

   He still felt like that small boy though as he tried his hardest not to cry in front of everybody, but his resolved failed when Mrs Figg pressed one last gift into his and Draco’s hands as the train chugged to life and began to crawl out of the platform.  He looked down to see two, small, homemade jars of blackberry jam, and the tears began to fall.

   “You take care of each other now,” Mrs Figg called out sternly.  “And you write to me, every week!”

   “We promise!” shouted Harry as she became smaller and smaller.  _“We promise!”_

   They waved until the train rounded the bend, and the town vanished behind them and melted into the countryside. 

   The boys found an empty compartment once they had stowed their luggage safely, where they were able to pull the curtains and at least have a modicum of privacy.  They let their cats roam free, leaving the worry of how they were going to force the indignant creatures back into their carry case for when they were approaching London.  For a short while, they risked holding hands, their heads bent together as they sat in quiet contemplation, each thinking on their time away from the city whilst the war changed the world around them.  But after a time, Harry knew it was risky to continue to push their luck, and instead they satisfied themselves with just letting their knees touch through their trousers.  Their conversation gradually came back to them, and Draco talked with cheerful determination about how Harry would be welcomed by both his mother and his father, Mr Malfoy having returned from France several weeks ago.  He refused to let Harry give up hope that his own father would be waiting for him, for which Harry was extremely thankful.

   The roof of Victoria Station was made entirely of browning glass, criss-crossed with hundreds of steel girders that caused the sunlight that filtered through to lattice across the platform floor.  A guard kindly helped the boys get their many suitcases off of the train and onto a trolley, but Harry insisted on pushing it himself into the main concourse whilst Draco trundled the two bicycles.  The Malfoys were already doing so much for Harry, he didn’t want to greet them looking like a freeloader. 

   Mrs Malfoy met them beside an ancient looking man in a driver’s livery who Draco informed Harry was named Mr Dobby.  Mrs Malfoy did not cry exactly, but her eyes were extremely bright as she came forward and seized Draco in an eager embrace.  “Oh my dear boy,” she murmured.  Harry noted that Draco was almost as tall as his mother now as he tried not to watch their embrace with too much envy.  Mrs Malfoy though soon turned to him and enveloped him in her arms too, stroking his hair tenderly.  “I am so sorry Harry to hear what happened to your mother,” she told him, then looked him in the eye.  “You are welcome to stay with us as long as you like.”

   “Thank you,” Harry managed around the lump in his throat. 

   Malfoy Manor was every bit as grand as its name.  It stood tall and white in a row of adjoining town houses, towering four stories high.  Harry saw much destruction from the car window as they drove, evidence of the horror the bombs had caused, but Wiltshire Drive was mostly untouched.  He worried again if his own home was even still standing, or merely reduced to a pile of bricks like his mother’s factory.

   If only he knew for _certain_ what had happened to her, but he had nothing to go on except those ten simple words from his Aunt Petunia.  He had never gotten along with his mother’s sister or her family, and he couldn’t help but feel she was withholding information from him out of spite. The thought that she would be so petty even in the face of tragedy made Harry very sad indeed, but unfortunately he could well believe it. 

   The Malfoys had staff to help unload the car, and Harry was not allowed to assist in carrying the luggage as he wanted to.  Instead Draco steered him into the house and began excitedly showing him around.  “I want you to feel at home,” he said anxiously as he ran his hand through his hair and looked around the drawing room.  “Though I must say, I’ve somewhat forgotten myself what it feels like to think of this as home.”

   “It’s so _big,”_ Harry confided, and Draco nodded mutely. 

   The tour concluded on the top floor where Draco’s childhood bedroom was located.  Harry was extremely keen to get a look at the place where Draco had spent his boyhood until they had moved to Little Whinging, and he was unsurprised to find it absolutely filled with books.  Draco watched him with interest as he took stock of the stuffed toys and framed photos that also decorated the surfaces, and as he ran his fingertips over the beloved books’ spines.  “This is where you used to sleep?” Harry asked, although it wasn’t really a question.  Draco nodded in response anyway. 

   There was only one other room on this floor, which Mrs Malfoy had already organised to been set up ready for Harry’s arrival.  “We’re still in the attic,” Harry noted, looking out of the window at the impressive view. 

   “Almost,” Draco agreed with a reserved little chuckle. 

   Dinner was a quiet affair.  Mr Malfoy may have come back from his tour of duty relatively unharmed, but his eyes held a haunted look and he jumped whenever the cutlery clattered too loudly.  He kept looking over at Draco though every now and again, and when he did he would smile and nod at him.  Harry felt, in his own silent way, he was extremely glad to be home, and to have his family by his side again.

   Harry could think of very little to say, so the conversation was carried mostly by Draco and Mrs Malfoy.  Draco’s mother was keen to let them know of all the developments in the area, but sadly that mostly entailed a list of what had and had not been destroyed.  Their old school was half demolished, but mention of that lead Draco to announce both his and Harry’s results from their summer exams, and he and his mother began excitedly talking about which schools they could perhaps attend instead, and then which university.  Harry had to say the prospect cheered his spirits a little, as he was included in all of Draco’s plans without question, but he could not seriously consider anything of the sort until he had discovered in detail the fate of both his parents. 

   Harry ate as much as he could to be polite, but his heart was far from in it.  He passed several scraps to Treacle and Shelley as they wound around his and the chair’s legs, aware that the Malfoys’ staff had reacted with wide eyes and pursed lips at the arrival of the two cats, but not managing enough energy to really care. 

   Thankfully, both boys were undeniably exhausted from their travels, and were therefore not made to stay up late.  After numerous poorly hidden yawns at the dinner table, they were sent up to get washed for bed, feline companions in tow.  They brushed their teeth side by side as usual in the bathroom on the third floor, then paused uncertainly in the middle of the hallway between their two rooms.

   “Goodnight,” Harry said, mindful of the elder Malfoys downstairs, and after a glance at the stairway to make sure they were alone, risked a very quick peck on the cheek.  Draco though, emboldened in his own home, pulled Harry into a hug and tenderly kissed him on the mouth. 

   “Goodnight,” he murmured.

   They left their doors open ajar, so that the cats could move freely if they wished, not wanting to separate them like their owners were forced to do.  Harry felt a little better knowing he was not entirely cut off from Draco, but his new bed still felt awfully cold and empty without him.  He willed himself to sleep though, and he was so exhausted after all the past week’s turmoil, it wasn’t long before he was drifting off.

   He was sadly not surprised when the nightmares came. 

   He was running through smoke and flames.  He could hear his mother’s voice but he couldn’t find her.  _“Mum!”_ he screamed and coughed.  _“Mum I’m coming, where are you!”_

   “Shh,” he heard, and half awake, felt himself being pulled into familiar arms.

   “Mum?” he whimpered.

   “It’s Draco,” the inevitable reply came, and Harry let himself be hugged.  “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

   After that, he slept.

 

xxx

 

   Harry’s initial reaction upon waking the next morning was that of contentment.  He was wrapped in the arms of Draco as he had become accustomed to, but within seconds reality came crashing down and his eyes flew open in panic.

   “Draco!” he hissed, spinning around to his still sleeping friend.  The morning light was spilling around the edges around the curtains, and Harry could clearly see his blond hair and pale face, peaceful with slumber.  But they couldn’t stay like this, it wasn’t right.  “Draco, you must wake up.”

   Draco however merely screwed up his forehead and pulled Harry closer to him.  “Nightmares,” he mumbled.

   Harry bit his lip.  “I know,” he said.  “I know, I think I was shouting, but I’m fine now, you have to go back to _your_ room.”

   Draco blinked sleepily and shook his head, burying his face against Harry’s neck.  “Not yours,” he muttered.  _“Mine._   My nightmares.  Couldn’t sleep without you.”

   Harry had heard people describe the sensation of their hearts ‘melting’ before, but until that moment he hadn’t realised it was something you really could feel within your own chest.  He sighed and stroked Draco’s soft hair, and gave him a kiss by his ear.  “What if your parents find you here, they’ll kick me out.”

   “They’ll do no such thing,” Draco grumbled.  “Mother adores you, and she’s spoilt me horribly my whole life.  We’ll explain about the nightmares and that will be that.”

   Harry kissed him again, along his jaw a little closer to his mouth.  “Fine then, if not your mother, then what about all your staff?”

   “Bribery,” said Draco.  He had his eyes closed but his mouth wore a devilish grin.  “Works like a charm.”

   “You are incorrigible,” Harry said throwing the covers over their heads so he could sneak a proper kiss, the way the French did it.

   When their day finally began, after baths and breakfast, Harry felt himself armed with a grim determination.  They had no plans set for the day yet other than further unpacking, which Harry felt all things considered could wait. 

   “I’m going to go visit my house,” he told Draco as they left the dining room.

   “Your house?” Draco repeated neutrally. 

   Harry nodded.  “I want to see if it’s there, if my keys still work.”  He could feel Draco watching him as they climbed the stairs, so he turned to stop and look back at him, ignoring the lump in his throat.  “If you like,” he added, shy suddenly for some strange reason.  “You could come with me?”

   Draco’s shoulders dropped in something that looked like relief.  “Of course,” he said sincerely.  “When do you want to leave?”

   Harry chewed his bottom lip.  “Now?” he suggested tentatively.

   Draco smiled.  “Now it is then.” 

   Knowing where they were in London, Harry was aware that they could get the Number 4 bus, but the weather was as bright and breezy as it had been the past few weeks, so therefore Harry suggested they take their bikes instead.  Their two streets were probably as far away as they could get from one another whilst still falling within their old school’s catchment zone, but if they were to ride he figured it would only take fifteen minutes or so.

   As they travelled along the roads Harry got an even better look at the carnage caused by the Blitz.  He took in silently whole streets that were now reduced to piles of rubble, only the odd chimney pot or front door poking out from the piles of bricks to indicate these were ever anyone’s homes. 

   It was all a matter of luck, he began to think.  One road would be demolished, and then the next would be untouched.  He felt a pang of pity for all the people who had had to stay here all those years, and then another of guilt.  His time in Little Whinging hadn’t been entirely carefree, but it had not involved air raid sirens or fleeing to bunkers in the middle of the night either. 

   The uneasiness in his stomach increased the closer they got to Godric’s Hollow Way.  Would his home be one of the lucky ones, or was he about to face another thoroughfare of destruction?

   He rounded the corner and was overcome with such relief his bike swerved violently and he had to strain to get control of the wheel.  “Harry!” Draco called in alarm.  “Are you alright?”

   “It’s there,” he managed to croak, pointing a finger as he steadied the bike enough to steer with one hand.  “It’s still there, my house.”

   And it was.  There was some damage at the end of the road, and Harry hoped the Diggorys had not been home when half their roof had collapsed all the way into their living room, but the Potters home was still very much intact. 

   Harry hadn’t realised how badly he had been convinced he would have nothing to come back to until the bike veered sharply again, and he gave up and just hopped off the blasted thing, sucking down large gulps of air to stop his head spinning.  Draco came to a more dignified halt, and propped both the bicycles against old Mrs McGonagall’s wall. 

   “Are you alright?” Draco asked again, concern clear in his words, and Harry nodded earnestly, his hands on his knees for support as he steadied his breathing and calmed himself. 

   “I really thought it would be gone,” he admitted, looking again at the small terraced house.  It was nothing compared to Malfoy Manor, but to him it was a palace.  “I thought I would have nothing left.”

   Draco came over and put his arm over his back, squeezing his shoulder.  There were a few people walking down the street he noticed, but it wasn’t enough of an intimate move that Harry cared they would notice anything unusual.   “I’m glad it’s still here,” he said warmly.

   Harry thought about seeing Draco’s home, and his bedroom in particular.  He hadn’t appreciated that maybe he’d been jealous, that it had made him even more anxious about returning to his own street where he’d grown up.  He’d played football up and down here with Cedric Diggory more times than he could count, and yet without realising, in his mind he had already condemned it to obliteration. 

   His breathing levelled out and he stood up.  “Sorry,” he said with an ashamed little laugh, but Draco rolled his eyes. 

   “Will you put a sock in that,” he said, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.  “You don’t have to apologise to me.  Ever.”

   “Even when I’ve been a prat?” Harry asked playfully, but inside he was quietly very grateful to hear Draco support him out loud.

   He gave him one of his signature smirks.  “No,” he teased.  “If you’ve been a prat, then you _definitely_ have to apologise.”

   Harry smiled at him.  Sometimes, making jokes made him feel better than kind words, and he loved that Draco knew that. 

   “Thanks,” he said.

   “Not a problem,” Draco assured him, a breeze picking up and ruffling his blond hair. 

   “Harry?”

   They had been so busy talking that Harry had taken his eyes off the house, and his head snapped around in shock as he realised the front door had opened.

   And there stood James Potter, dark haired, blue eyed, in his old slacks, shirt and suspenders that he always favoured; Harry’s long absent father. 

   His vision blurred again but that didn’t stop him stumbling into a mad dash across the street.  _“Dad!”_ he yelled, throwing himself into his arms

   “Harry!” his father cried in response, embracing him so tightly he thought his ribs might crack.  “Harry I can’t believe that’s really you!  Where’s my little chap gone!”

   Harry gave a laugh that was half hiccup, half sob.  “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he mumbled, hastily drying his eyes.  Boys really weren’t supposed to cry as much as he did. 

   “Didn’t you get my letter?” his father asked, mildly confused, and Harry pulled back to look at him, aware that Draco had left their bikes and come to stand on the pavement by them and the front door. 

   Harry also became confused.  “No,” he said.  “No letter, Draco and I returned from Little Whinging yesterday, I didn’t even know our house would still be here, let alone that you would be inside?”  He felt his resolve threaten to crumble again, but he rallied his courage.  “I only received the telegram from Aunt Petunia last week.  About…about mother.”

   His father’s eyes widened.  “Are you telling me you don’t know?” he stuttered, and began pulling Harry inside the house.

   “What?” Harry stammered, bewilderment making his feet slow and clumsy.  “Don’t know what?”

   “Harry?”

   He froze, and his father’s face broke into the most wonderful grin.

   “Harry?  Is that you?”

   Everything became something of a blur as Harry’s feet took on a life of their own, and he pitched forward, bouncing off the wall and into the living room to their left.

   And there, cut and bruised, leg in a cast and small frame wrapped in several blankets on the couch, lay Lily Potter, her face alight with disbelief.  

   It was nothing compared to Harry’s though.

   _“MUM!”_ he screamed, stumbling forwards, dropping his knees against the floor to thrust his arms around her. 

   “Ouch,” she chuckled, patting his back, but he was completely oblivious as he sobbed into her chest.  “Careful there sweetheart.”

   _“You were dead!”_ he accused through his tears.  _“You were dead, Aunt Petunia said so!”_

   He felt his father crouch beside him and gently pull him a little away, and only then did he see how dreadful she truly looked.  Her skin was so pale it was practically translucent, and the shadows under her eyes were purple and puffy.  Her usually vibrant red hair was lank and scraped into a bun behind her head, and up close he realised several of the cuts still had stitches in them.  Her lips were chapped and her nails were peeling but he didn’t care _because she was alive!_

   “Not dead,” said his father thickly.  “Missing.  Your old mum was in a coma after the factory got hit, and only just woke up last week to tell the hospital who she was.”

   “Oi,” she chided, her eyes half closed and her words lazy with exhaustion.  “Less of the ‘old’.”

   “I still don’t-” Harry babbled.  “I don’t understand, _Petunia said-”_

   “The hospital didn’t have a telephone number for me until I got home,” his father continued, rubbing Harry’s back as he held onto his mother’s nightgown, afraid of hurting her if he hugged her again.  “And your mum was adamant they were to call me first, she didn’t want Petty Pots muddling what was true and what was gossip.  Luckily Mrs McGonagall left a note through the letter box, so it was the first thing I saw when I stepped through the door three days ago, and I raced straight to the Royal Chelsea.”

   “Still in his RAF blues,” his mother said with a dreamy voice that suggested extremely strong pain killers.  “All the nurses swooned.” 

   “But,” Harry said, feeling like his brain was moving pitifully slowly.  “What _happened?_   How did you _survive?”_

   His mother lifted a hand that looked weaker than Treacle when he’d been no more than a bundle of fluff, and cupped his face.  “You’re not a boy anymore,” she mused, tears in her green eyes as her cracked lips parted in a smile filled with such love.  “Not my baby boy, my strong man, come home.”

   “They found her under a slab of concrete,” his father supplied, his voice catching as he squeezed Harry’s shoulder.  “The fire crew reckoned she’d been there hours, and the ambulance drivers weren’t sure she would make it through the night.”

   _“James,”_ his mother admonish with a scowl.

   “But you did,” his father laughed, and Harry didn’t need to turn to see the tears that had edged over his eyelashes.  “Your mother has always been the stubborn sort Harry.  She’ll never let me outlive her.”

   He gave a small sob at the last word, and took his wife’s hand. 

   Harry felt them both.  His father’s shuddering chest at his back, and his mother’s clavicles under his clasped fists, where his hands were still clutching to her nightie like an anchor.  His family, _his family._   How, how could he be so lucky as to have them both here beside him, when a mere ten minutes ago he was convinced the only way he would be close to them again would be to visit their graves above empty coffins.  He trembled, and took a deep breath.  They were here, it was okay, _it was okay._

   “And who is this handsome fellow?” his mother rasped, breaking him from his reverie. 

   Harry’s eyebrows shot up, and he spun on his knees to see Draco standing by the doorway, arms wrapped around his chest, eyes and face bright with a beautiful, unabashed smile.

   Without thinking Harry leapt to his feet to shoot across the room and into Draco’s arms, the two boys hugging and laughing and crying right there in Harry’s living room, without a care in the world. 

   “I love you,” Harry whispered, so overcome with emotion he wasn’t sure he could have stopped himself saying the words if he tried.  Because of course Draco would be there, firmly by his side, at the moment his life had seemingly fallen apart, and then again at the moment it had miraculously put itself back together. 

   “I love you too,” Draco mumbled into the side of his neck as his hands tightened around his shirt. 

   And in that instant, Harry knew that whatever the future held, they would be okay.  Because they had their families, and they had each other, and in a world that had only just scraped through the worst war it had ever seen, Harry felt truly in his bones, that you simply couldn’t ask for any more than that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry? I’m not sorry? Who knows lol. I hope you don’t feel it was a cop-out to have Lily be alive after all that – you guys were so gutted after the last chapter, WIP are so HARD! 
> 
> That’s NOT why she lived though; although I respect you guys, I would never change my intent just because I made you cry. (A lot – DID I MENTION I’M SORRY?!) 
> 
> When I was penning the first chapter, the plan was to have Lily die like this and James die in a blaze of glory over Normandy, because Harry’s an orphan, right? Right!?!
> 
> I couldn’t do it. I just…the boys have been through so much, will go through so much, I had to balance out the fluff. So I really hope you don’t hate me for going for the happy ending. I WOULD just say…there’s an epilogue yet still so come, so don’t put those hankies away yet. 
> 
> Anyway, this is the first fic I’ve ever written on-the-road-style (I’ve posted stories that are already finished, although enforced with a gap between chapters, because that builds tension, mwahaha) but BLOODY HELL. This was a whole new experience. Like I said, the story isn’t over yet, but you guys have put me through the ringer and as stressful as it has been, it has been AMAZING! I love every single one of you who has been on the edge of their seat, literally screaming at me as each chapter has gone up. 
> 
> Through this fic, I have gained a new appreciation of my readers, and made a load of new friends (and I am NOT crying again, I am not!!)
> 
> You guys rock like the fucking balls of Satan. Thank you.
> 
> Juliet xxx
> 
> (PS – In case I wasn’t clear, there’s totally an epilogue, don’t you dare flake on me after this!!)


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m just going to say a quick but heartfelt thank you for all your support, especially with the last two chapters. You guys are amazing.
> 
> I hope you like the end, more notes to follow afterwards xJx

 

**October 31 st 1951**

 

   They stood, side by side, collars turned up against the freezing wind that bit into their skin.  The cottage was exactly as he remembered it, although the walls they had painted white several years ago were now weathered cream around the edges.  Harry rather liked that though, he felt it made the place seem loved.

   The set of keys were cold in his hand, even through the woollen gloves he wore.  He rolled them in his fingers, making them clink.

   “Should we go inside?” Draco suggested quietly.  He also clutched a number of keys in his hand, held together on a sturdy silver ring, although his collection were to locks of many sorts.

   One was for the ignition of the car that stood in the driveway behind them, gleaming black in the fading wintery sunlight.  Another was to its boot that was packed to the brim with a mismatching assortment of suitcases, no doubt becoming chilled now the engine had cooled after their long drive down from London.  A small silver key was currently responsible for the captivity of two aging, grousing cats mewling on the back seat, unaware as they were that they had in fact returned home. 

   There was a brass key for Number 7 Godric’s Hollow Way, and a pair of gold ones for the front and back of Malfoy Manor on Wiltshire Drive.  There was an extra key that had been added recently, one that enabled the top floor of the Manor to be locked from the inside when necessary.  The Malfoys often had guests, and they did not need to know why this floor had only one bedroom, a living room and a bathroom, almost as if there were a couple living there. 

   Harry had his own set of keys that matched Draco’s exactly, but they were currently hidden away at the bottom of one of the bags, unnecessary whilst they travelled together.  He looked down at the much simpler set in his own hand; a front door and a back door key only.  They would need to get copies made of these too. 

   “It looks the same,” he said in lieu of an actual response to Draco’s question.

   He caught his partner's smile out of the corner of his eye.  “Really?” he said.  “I think it looks smaller.”

   By silent agreement they made their way down the path.  The garden was bare, autumn already having taken its toll on the flowerbeds and shrubbery, but Harry preferred to see it like that.  When they had last visited at the end of summer, they had done what they could to maintain its upkeep, but he felt he would rather see it barren than neglected as it inevitably would be. 

   The key turned with no fuss, and in a single moment Harry felt like a small boy again, stepping through the front door for the first time with a sense of trepidation in his heart.

   The house was dark and cold, but as Harry’s eyes grew accustomed to the gloom he saw everything was as he remembered.  The once plump sofa and chairs with the worn-down arm rests, the china ornaments sitting atop of the doilies, and the oblong and rectangular photo frames standing along the mantle.  This time though, Harry recognised several of himself amongst the black and white images, and smiled.

   He had not felt Draco leave his side, but he felt him return as he deposited the cat basket on the floor by his feet, and unlocked the little door that had kept their two pets confined.  “There you go,” Draco said softly to them as they bound free.

   “Shall we light a fire?” Harry suggested.

   “Let’s,” Draco agreed.

   With light and warmth one more filling the cottage, Harry began to feel the knot in his chest unwinding slowly.  It had been a long day, and a tiring one, and he was relieved to finally feel some calm.

   Before he removed his winter coat, he traipsed back out to the car, Draco’s keys in hand in order to start ferrying in the many suitcases they had squeezed into such a small space out of the car and into the house.  He smiled at the accomplishment, thinking of both Mrs Malfoy and Mrs Potter’s doubtful faces as their sons had loaded the car that morning by the side of the road.

   “You’ll never make it all the way there with all that,” Harry’s mother had fretted.  “The axle will fall off before you reach Woking.” 

   “As a now fully qualified engineer,” Harry had teased her back before kissing her cheek.  “I can assure you it will not.”

   “What are you smiling about?” Draco asked back in the present, coming out to lend a hand with the last of the bags.

   “Mother,” Harry said simply, and Draco smiled too.

   “Come on,” he said, once the front door was firmly shut.  “I’ve got something to show you.”

   They kicked their shoes off and hung their coats and black jackets from their suits carefully on the rack, before Draco took Harry’s hand and lead him into the kitchen.  A single letter sat on the table, in an envelope addressed to _“Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy”_ written in a familiar, though somewhat shaking handwriting.  Holding it in place in case of any wayward breeze was an equally familiar pot of Mrs Figg’s finest blackberry jam. 

   Draco freed the letter and held it out to Harry.  “Do you want to open it?” he asked, so Harry did, shaking the single sheaf of paper flat so they could both read the words written in spiky black ink.

   _“Dear Harry and Draco,”_ it began, and Harry felt the lump rise in his throat that he had been fighting all day. 

   _“My darling boys.  Please do not be sad.  I know this is a day for tears, but know with absolute certainty that in my final days I was as happy as I’d ever been, surrounded by friends.”_

  Harry let a shuddery sigh escape, and his eyes burned.  “We should have been there,” he said, not for the first time.

   Draco slipped his arm around his waist and rested the side of his head against the top of Harry’s.  “Nurse Pomfrey said in the end, it was very fast,” Draco murmured, rubbing his thumb along Harry’s hip.  “Even if they had phoned and we had dropped everything to come, we still wouldn’t have made it in time.”

   Harry knew this, but it still didn’t make him feel much better.  He wanted to believe if they had been told sooner of Mrs Figg’s fading health, they could have made it to her side to tell her one final time that they had loved her, told her thank you for all she had done for them. 

   It wasn’t to be though, and Harry had tried to believe Draco over the past few days when he assured him over and over that she knew that, that she would never have thought otherwise.  Still, he would liked to have said the words out loud just one more time. 

   He rubbed his face, and carried on reading. 

   _“You will by now have no doubt spoken to my lawyers, and hopefully they have explained my will and last wishes in full.  This house is yours, it has been since the moment you set foot in it, and it gives me great comfort to make this official on my passing._

_“I know you have your homes in London too, ready for you now your time studying has come to an end, so it up to you whether or not you chose to live here.  It makes me smile to think you will though, even if it is only to holiday whenever the city becomes too much for you.”_

   Harry wiped a tear away at that.  No matter how hard he tried, London had never quite felt like home to him again after the war, whereas Little Whinging always did, no matter how long they had been away.

   _“I have very few regrets in my life.  Losing my Bert too soon was one of them, and being unable to have children was another.  But then life took a turn, and suddenly I had two remarkable boys that for a time, I was able to call my own._

_“I am unsure I can ever properly express the joy you brought to my heart, so I beg of you now as we say goodbye, try your hardest not to be sad.  We were gifted a remarkable time together, one that I cherished deeply._

_“So I leave you now, darling Harry and darling Draco.  Please take care of one another, as I know you always have.  I offer my home to become your home, somewhere you can have the privacy you deserve to create many more happy memories in the years to come._

_“With all the love in the world,_

_“Arabella Figg xxx”_

   “Do you think she knew?” Harry asked, wiping his eyes.  Draco took the letter and placed it carefully on the table, before turning him and enveloping him in a hug.

   “Of course she knew,” he said admiringly.  “Nothing got by that old dear.”

   Harry chuckled wetly and ran his hand up and down Draco’s back.

   It was strange.  Men like them should have felt safer in a big city like London where there were others like them, where there were more places to melt into the fringes of society.  But Harry had come to understand that just wasn’t the case.  He thought he would start to feel that way after they had completed their studies at Cambridge, but even having their own secluded space at the Manor had not given him the security he always felt whenever they returned to Mrs Figg’s cottage.

   The attic bedroom had never stopped being theirs, and despite their increasing years, their old guardian had never once suggested they no longer share a bed when they came to visit.  She had always waved a hand and told them to get on with it, grumpy they even had the grace to appear awkward.

   And now here they stood, having being greeted warmly by the town at that afternoon’s service.  Everyone they had ever known in Little Whinging had turned out to bid Mrs Figg farewell, and had treated Harry and Draco as her kin.

   If any of them suspected why they always came as a pair, none of them ever mentioned anything.  The two of them had become well schooled at concealing their affections, and the townsfolk seemed disinclined to press further if they had any suspicions as to what might happen behind closed doors. 

   Treacle wound his way around Harry and Draco’s legs, purring as if to thank them for returning him and his sister to their old home.  The rest of Mrs Figg’s many cats had been lovingly gifted to the local children, but this house simply wouldn’t have felt right if it didn’t have at least one feline present. 

   “What do you think then?” Harry asked as they swayed gently on the spot, to music only they could feel in their hearts.  “Is this home now?  Shall we stay?”

   Draco looked down at him fondly, before pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. 

   Harry was so filled with warmth and love.  Here they could build a life.  He already had work lined up with a renowned aeronautics company a short drive away in a nearby town, and Draco could write his storybooks wherever he pleased.  Here, they had their friends, their memories of how their love began, their space to be together like their souls desired. 

_“Shall we stay?”_

   Draco held him close and breathed deeply, running his fingers through Harry’s hair like he had done since they were boys.  The tragedy of war had brought them together, but through that they had discovered true happiness.  Life, much like blackberry jam, was flavoured with a bittersweet tang, and even as his heart ached for the loss of Mrs Figg, Harry knew he wouldn’t change that for anything. 

_“Shall we stay?”_

   Draco withdrew and took Harry in carefully, their cats sat at their feet, the blessing of their parents in their hearts, and the memory of their surrogate mother all around them.  Their family. 

   He threaded his fingers through Harry’s and brought the joint hands up between them, rubbing just above the knuckle on his left hand, where, in another life, a ring might have sat.

_“Shall we stay?”_

   “Forever?” Draco asked, the weight of the word clear even in its simplicity. 

   “Forever,” Harry affirmed. 

   There was nowhere else in the world he would rather be, than stood beside the man he loved, the man he would always love.

   Forever. 

 

 

The End

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Writing this story has been incredible. I have loved creating this world, but not half as much as I have enjoyed sharing it with you wonderful readers. Your support and enthusiasm has been unreal, and I’d like to say a massive thank you for everything you have done. 
> 
> Whilst writing this fic, two particularly devastating events took place; the shooting at Pulse gay club in Orlando, Florida, and the vote here in the UK to exit the EU, one of the many immediate consequences of which was an unprecedented increase in reported hate crime by 60% and rising. These events devastated me personally, as they have many people, and it was hard at times to think there was absolutely nothing I could do to help. But by pouring my heart into this story, into these boys, it gave me a sense of purpose, and the joy I saw in my readers from it was hard to ignore. So I’m very grateful that during these tough weeks in particular, I happened to be working on a fic filled with so much hope. 
> 
> I often have soundtracks to longer fics, and songs that inspire me to fully delve into the world I am creating. For ‘Blackberry Jam’, the two anthems have to be ‘Secret Love Song Part II’ by Little Mix, and ‘Wings’ by Birdy. I implore you to please listen to them both, and enjoy the overload of feels.
> 
> I’ll leave by saying thank you once more for every single hit, fave, follow and comment. Writing an ongoing WIP was rather stressful at times, but your enthusiasm also made the experience absolutely brilliant. You are awesome, and I’m so lucky to have you.
> 
> Lots of love and hugs,
> 
> Juliet xxx

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please review! To discover more of my writing, visit www.helenjuliet.com


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